


Lower Your Eyes

by XNYSX (xXNYSXx), xXNYSXx



Category: Loki: Agent of Asgard, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Love, POV Loki (Marvel), Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2020-03-20 02:52:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 52,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18983734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXNYSXx/pseuds/XNYSX, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXNYSXx/pseuds/xXNYSXx
Summary: A slave has never served a member of the royal family. That's what the higher-ranking servants are for--so when a particularly foolish young woman spills food onto the lesser prince, at the grandest feast of Asgard, the palace is struck dumb by his subsequent request to employ her. Gods help that poor fool.





	1. Lower Your Eyes, Aila

Mother was tired. The work of a slave was arduous, so she was often tired, but this time was different. We didn’t have the luxuries of palace servants, since they were above us in rank, and our needs were never cared for the way theirs were. So there would be no formal care for my mother’s state—not even a diagnosis for whatever was ailing her these days.

We were the bottommost class of citizens. There was no cost for the servants’ care in the hospital, while ours was cruelly beyond our means. They wore finely woven dresses for work, while we wore pants…our women’s tunics had some overflowing fabrics, but they were hardly dresses. We needed the movement for harder work.

The princes and nobles frequently courted the servants as well, sometimes bringing them to their chambers, but rarely did any servant marry into a noble family. We, on the other hand, were disallowed from even looking upon their faces—our very existence was graced with only the basest conditions for survival.

As I watched the kitchen bustle about in preparation for the feast, my mother struggled to hide her crippling fatigue. She had fallen ill recently, and none of the healers would see her without payment—and healing was one of many forms of magic she never managed to teach me in secret. We were hardly allowed to defend ourselves from the advances of the royal guard—use of the seidr was certainly forbidden. And it was a secret I would carry to the grave.

When I matured into adulthood, she’d spent the darkest, most secret hours of the night teaching me the basest forms of magic that she’d learned as a young girl. Projections mostly, taught in the most secluded rooms of the palace—or ones that were locked up at night, and could only be opened by magic.

I never advanced past those, never managed to, before the lessons became encumbering. A few tricks had allowed me to retain my strength, which made me an excellent worker, but I was to use them sparsely—only if I were in desperate need to carry on.

“Mama?” I sauntered to her, my chest tightening at the sight of her hunched form. Evening had fallen, and it was time to start bringing out the food. Prepare our decanters to serve wine. “Let me take that,” I said, reaching for the heavy tray she hovered over.

“No _,”_ she waved my hand away. “It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not _,_ ” I insisted, placing my decanter in front of her. “You take this.”

Despite our difficult life, I was not accustomed to seeing her so weak. She’d told me stories about being a woman of rank in our old world, having escaped my horror of a father when she became pregnant. He was also a renowned nobleman—though escaping him proved the lesser fortune, since she ended up captive among the enemies of Asgard. 

“I’m alright, Aila—really, I am,” she breathed out, though her paleness was not convincing.

“No, you’re not.” I shook my head. “You come find me if they give you something heavy to carry, alright?”

She said nothing at first, and then eased into a grin. “Thank you, _nochka_.”

I grinned, and bent over for a quick embrace, before seeing the lead servant shoot me a glare from the corner. I dropped my gaze down to the floor, feeling my own blood drain fearfully from my cheeks, and picked up the heavy tray from my mother—leaving her my decanter instead.

One by one, the serving maids and bussing slaves gathered around the kitchen exit. We waited for a time there, while the first round of the feast had passed, and then it was our turn—to bring more food out, and more wine.

I looked over at her, panic blooming in my chest at the sight of her frailness. “Mother…”

“Lower your eyes,” she whispered as we shuffled down the long hallway to the ballroom.

“They are lowered—we need to sneak you away, mother. You need to rest…”

“We can’t,” she shook her head. “We shouldn’t even attempt it. They will notice the absence, and I will be worse off than I am now.” 

I pressed my lips together worriedly. I didn’t want to look away, but the stress of being flogged or otherwise punished would only worsen her condition. My punishments were always worse for her to take than her own. 

I trailed back down to the large tray in front of me, with tempting rolls and meats laden on it. Though it was easy to avert my thoughts from my growling stomach—I foolishly ate my entire ration in the morning—as we strode into the ballroom.

The cold, brisk hallway air was immediately replaced by the smell of food, with the heat of a multitude of noblemen and women crowded into the space. The king and queen were situated at the far left of the room—where I was headed—along with the princes, Thor and Loki. Mother and I went our separate ways, each of us surrounded by a flurry of beautiful fabrics, laughter, and smiling faces. 

The royal table was laden with the most food, and I was to leave my platefuls before the family itself. Mostly in front of Thor—he was the one with the larger appetite.

I’d only witnessed the princes’ faces a few times in my life, but I was still familiar with both their demeanors. The older one, Thor, was large, loud and boisterous—I only ever dared to glance at him a few times, but I never needed it to sense the friendliness in his tone…we may have been friends in another life, if I were ever one of the noblewomen attending these events.

The fact that such thoughts perused my mind at all was thanks to my mother.

The lesser prince, Loki, was tall and lean with a handsome face, but terribly quiet—and a master of magic, as mother had warned me. He and the queen were to be dealt with caution at all costs, for if they sensed any flares of seidr about me, my meager practices would have severe consequences.

My shoulders clenched, and nervousness rose as I strode around the back of their table. From here, it was safe to glance up at them. The Almother was speaking to the lesser prince, whose dark curls swept over his shoulders as he turned toward her. And as usual, Thor was instead conversing with the warriors three.

I was to hold the tray in one hand, and slide the food onto the table in the crevice between the princes—which proved rather strenuous, and I was glad to have taken the task from my mother. She may or may not have managed on her own.

I took one of the plates, and leaned over the lesser prince’s shoulder. He whispered something in his mother’s ear, she chuckled and muttered back to him, “We’ll have to talk to Eirarch about—”

Her voice was suddenly stunted by the sound of a clatter and a thump in the middle of the ballroom.

In the corner of my eye, I saw my mother tumble to the ground. My breath hitched in my throat, and the plate tumbled from my hands. My eyes fell with panic, and the Prince recoiled from the sudden mess, shifting in his chair as his eyes jolted up to me. Panic gripped my chest as my eyes flitted up to his with a terrified gasp, and fear shot through me at the ire in his emerald gaze.

“ _How dare you?_ ” he growled, and I stumbled back fearfully.

My limbs trembled. Flashes of a bloody whip, and incorrigible pain flared before my eyes, but tears had filled them as I swept toward sight of my mother laying on the ground.

“ _Mother!?_ ” I cried, and gathered just enough strength to bolt around the table, to her side. I fell to my knees beside her, tears streaming down my cheeks as I felt the heat subsiding from her body. “Gods, no— _no!_ _Help me, please!_ ” I cried out to the others, no longer caring what punishment awaited me for looking at their faces.

All around me, finely clothed nobles stood stock-still and peered down at us. No one moved.

 _“Please!”_ I screamed, and only a few of their faces contorted. They glanced between themselves with looks of disgusted shock at my outburst. 

Only the Almother’s brows creased with pain and worry, and she rose slightly from her chair as she regarded us. Odin grasped her forearm calmly, and she shot him a look of disdain. Beside her, the lesser prince merely stared annoyedly, before looking back down at the servant who had come to clean the mess. 

A figure appeared before them in front of me, crouched before my mother. “Aila,” Davos muttered darkly, as he tucked his arms beneath my mother. “Lower your eyes.”

I looked down at my friend—my one-time lover—and tears fell at the earnestness in his expression. Slowly, I dragged my gaze back down at the ground. He rose slowly with my mother in his arms, and made for the exit—with me in tow.

Once we were past the doors, I couldn’t contain myself any longer. Tears streamed down my cheeks, and I followed him to the slaves’ quarters.

 

***

_Eye-la._

That was the slave girl’s name, Loki had learned later that evening. Frigga had requested to know the state of the girl’s mother—who had evidently passed sometime during the latter half of the feast.

“That poor girl,” the Almother muttered, glowering at Odin slightly. “You should have let me help her.”

“You help one, and the rest will begin to harbor ideas about our generosity,” the Alfather mused coldly, taking a sip from his chalice. 

“ _I doubt it would have gone that far._ ”

Loki arched a brow at his mother’s sharpness. He had long since finished his food, and was also nursing his wine, keenly listening to the conversations that went on around him. Thor and his Idiots Three had fallen back to the subject of their latest weapons requisition, while Frigga argued with Odin—a slightly more interesting conversation.

Political at least, in its nature.

“If I had not seen it before, I would not ask this of you now.”

Frigga huffed. “When have you _ever_ endeavored to treat them kindly, Odin?”

His mother, the caring woman that she was, had always advocated for the betterment of care of their lesser residents. Though when one retort followed another at length, Loki had begun to grow bored with even _that_ conversation.

“More wine, Prince Loki?” A voice appeared in front of him, and Loki looked up at the servant girl who had been traipsing along their table—the same one who had rushed to his side, to clean the mess that the slave had left behind.

Despite her shy glances over the past few months, Loki had never cared to learn her name. Even now, he stared coldly at the woman—while she gave him a longer, kinder stare. As though she were accustomed to his demeanor.

“Please,” he answered politely, and her cheeks flushed slightly as he held out his chalice. From where he sat, Loki could see her chest heaving with apprehension.

“Thank you,” he muttered, and she pressed her lips together with a grin.

Thor had had so many noblewomen and servants—Loki’s own appetite for such carnal affections was sparse over the long years. It was deemed inappropriate for all intents and purposes, and no one was to speak of it or display it outwardly. The royal family was still to be feared and respected. Gossip would not be tolerated by any servant especially, of any rank.

Later in the night, Loki decided he would find her again, and approach with some semblance of a conversation. The woman was tall, lean—fully matured in all ways that a woman could be. Her cheeks bloomed red when first approached her, though Loki’s interest had only peaked at the prospect of a distraction from the otherwise dull night—which had followed a dull week of celebrations and drinking preceding the winter solstice. 

There were no prospects for a queen in Loki’s near future, nor that of physical companionship among the abhorrently poor conversationalists. He saw no trouble in relinquishing their attentions for that of the servant woman that night. 

It was always tiring to entertain prospective companions, and it had been some time since Loki’s last encounter. Though this one was quiet, reserved—there would be no issues with gossip, that much he was certain of. And things went by as quickly as he’d anticipated, just as they always had. It grew late before he’d even realized, and deep into the evening, Loki laid atop his sheets, staring into the fireplace as the servant girl gathered her clothes.

“My prince?” he heard her mutter, and his eyes flitted in her direction. 

Now fully clothed, her dark hair was tousled—the only remnants of their evening together. She curtsied to him, grinning happily, as though it were an honor to curtsy to him in such personal circumstances.

Loki stood from the bed, and in a flash of green, he was robed. He sauntered toward the door along with her, and took her hand. Offering the warmest grin that he could muster, Loki pressed his lips on her knuckles. “I thank you for your company tonight.”

“Of course,” she breathed out, her bright smile only growing at his touch.

Loki nodded, and opened the door for her, stepping out slightly to allow her to pass. The corridor was dark… dark, but not completely silent, as he realized instantly. 

The quiet sound of pattering feet and muffled sobbing had barely reached his ears.

“Good night, _Loki,_ ” the servant girl whispered as she stepped past him. Loki’s grin abated slightly—the informality was an infraction, regardless of what transpired between them. 

He watched for a moment as she sauntered down the hallway. Light poured onto him from the fireplace, and a second figure suddenly appeared in the dark.

Loki made out the features instantly—it was the slave girl from the feast, and her eyes were glinting with wetness in the pale moonlight. Her light, brown waves were a mess about her shoulders, and her tense movements nearly skidded to a stop. Her eyes flickered up, accidentally meeting the gaze of the servant girl and Loki.

The servant frowned, and the look on her face was sharp as she eyed the slave continuing her stride—sharp with disbelief. “Keep your eyes down, girl,” she commanded the girl coldly.

Loki’s attention averted to the young woman. She stared pointedly at the ground as she walked by him, covering her mouth with her wrist. Her shoulders pulled inward fearfully as she drew near him, though her features continued to be twisted with pain. Her brows were furrowed, brow damp with sweat, and lips shuddering against her skin, against… against a film of seidr.

If Loki blinked, he would have missed it. The hint of seidr, draining from the slave girl’s lips. It was faint—likely fading, so as to keep him from sensing it altogether. When he realized that the servant was still standing in the corner of his eye, he turned back toward her annoyedly.

“ _Sleep well,_ ” he said sharply—intently—and tension flickered in her brow.

She bowed her head confusedly, and turned slowly to disappear around the corner. When Loki looked back, he also saw that the slave girl—Aila, was it?—had gone down the stairwell at the far side of the hall.

Magic hummed in his veins as he closed the door behind him silently, masking his footsteps as he trailed down the hallway. Stopping at the archway that led into the stairwell, he tuned his hearing to the sounds of the palace…everything was still. Wherever she had disappeared to, the woman had done so quickly.

Loki stood a moment more, listening to nothing, and then sighed. 

  
However the girl learned her menial trick—likely through natural talent—her use of the seidr was a crime. A serious crime. He had merely to accuse her of it, and she would be reprimanded. Punished severely, if not executed.  
  
Which may or may not have been a gift, considering the girl’s circumstances. To lose one’s mother, and continue on living as a slave, alone in a punishing world? Loki would never traverse the lower dungeons of the palace where the slaves slept, but that did not mean that he was blind to their condition. None in the palace were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> w00t. Got this story started. So if you guys are here from my God and the Siren series, thank you so much for checking this story out! It's going to be a pretty relaxed, easy going story. Tons of palace intrigue, mostly light hearted stuff. Obviously there's going to be a plot and an endgame, but I'm aiming for this to be an easy, enjoyable, slightly angsty slowburn read. I'm DYING to write this thing.
> 
> Please, please do also share your thoughts with me along the way, and hear me out on why - for those of you who've read my AN's from my other stories, you know that I just recently started a new full time job. I'm also trying to publish my own novel, and I also work as a book editor. I was dying to write this story since I came up with it, but all of this is a lot on my plate. I can update as regularly as every week (some of you know this already), but if a story doesn't get a lot of traffic, there's not really a reason for me to not take my time with it, considering how much I've got going on.
> 
> Of course that's not an ultimatum on whether you get reading material, I hate it when writers do that. I write first and foremost for myself and will always finish my projects, but I want you guys to understand where I'm coming from too with pacing. I need to pace myself and prioritize. If people are going cray cray for the next chapter, I will go cray cray to prioritize it.
> 
> That's all for now. Til next time, lovelies!


	2. Are You Worthy?

"Prince Loki… _what?"_ I stuttered, hardly believing the words that came out of the head servant's mouth.

"He has requested to employ you."

I stared agape at the old woman—Ingaveld—eyes puffy and red from being up all night in tears. Several servants around the kitchen had also begun to whisper, likely on the subject of a slave being employed by a member of the royal family—a thing simply unheard of.

Behind Ingaveld, Astrid shot me an icy, disbelieving glare as she strode near us—true enough, if anyone was to be requested, I would think that the servant he'd spent the night with would be the one. The follow day, at that. In a matter of seconds, her face both blanched and reddened angrily again, and she turned away from us.

Meanwhile, my heart pounded frightfully against my chest…I had never heard that the lesser prince was cruel, but there had never been a slave—a female slave—set to work for him. I would be the first, and the thought alone of being one of the princes' chosen maidens was sickening.

"You will report to him now," Ingaveld gestured to the floor brush I'd been holding in my hands. "Leave that here, and go to his chambers now."

I blinked up at her. "Now?" I shook my head. "I—I never learned to serve the royal family…" Mother had never taught me—this would have thrown her into a panic.

Tears pooled in my eyes at the reminder. Less than a day since she had passed, since I had dropped food over Prince Loki—and now this? What could he possibly want with me, after what had happened? To torment me for spilling food on him? Surely the lashes to my right forearm were enough, though even those were meant to be merciful—considering the _unfavorable_ circumstances of my mistake.

Ingaveld perched her hands on her hips, and sneered cruelly. "What you have and have not learned, is none of my concern. You will learn on the job—if he does not kill you first—now _go."_

My fingers trembled against the brush, and anxiety swam in my chest as I set it down, rising to go and gather whatever I might need. A broom, maybe? A rag, to dust his things? What did he even have in there, that might require attention? Upon reaching the supply closet, I simply grabbed whatever cleaning tools I could carry. So much of my strength had already depleted, keeping the fear at bay as I sauntered through the palace halls was doubly encumbering.

The cool breeze was sweet, at least. It was fresh against my skin, and I was grateful for the relative silence that I traversed the palace in. Loki's chamber was near the throne room, and his wooden door towered high above my head.

I stood in front of it for a moment, wiping the remnants of wetness off my cheeks. On the other side of this wooden door, was the Prince—and who knows what else. I hadn't even looked into in the room when I'd passed by it last night. And now I was raising a hand to the wooden engravings, and knocking against the dense material.

The door opened of its own accord, and I pulled back my hand for a moment. _Lower your eyes,_ I reminded myself, and threw my gaze down sharply when I looked inside. The room itself was the base of a tower, and half the cylindrical structure was a window of its own. Light poured over every inch of the space—on the large bed in the center of the room, the fireplace whose embers had doused, the book shelf beside it, and the Prince's desk at the base of the towering window.

And there he sat, leg crossed under the table as he scratched away at a piece of parchment, consulting the tome beside it intermittently. In the vastness of the space, my footsteps were nearly silent against the cobbled floor. I felt…small. Insignificant against the stature of a royal prince, who had yet to acknowledge me since I strode in.

I jumped at the sudden creak behind me, and turned to see the door closing on its own. My eyes trailed over the view just out the window—mountains, as far as the eye could see. The towering, snow-capped peaks of Asgard. At the other far end of the room, a smaller archway led into the restroom. Everything was opulent—nothing like the abhorrent catacombs the slaves had slept in.

I stood awkwardly as I swept my eyes to him, fumbling with the rag in my fingers. He was the only other living creature in this room, and he continued scratching at the parchment without a care. For some time, I merely stood and observed his broad backside as he worked—occasionally catching his profile turning toward the writing, and away from it.

_Lower your eyes._

I dropped them down to the ground, and began to look around the space for something to do. Something to clean. The bed was made, all the books were stacked… I sauntered toward the restroom slowly—as though being quiet might lessen his awareness of my presence—all was pristine in there as well. As though a servant had only just come by to clean it.

I pulled the rag from my belt as I turned back toward the bedroom—squinting at the brightness of the window pouring over me. I lifted it up as I walked toward the fireplace, and ran it over the mantle.

Books suddenly fell from the dresser near the bathroom, startling me. I tensed as my eyes darted toward Loki, and relaxed again when he remained unmoving. Had I knocked them over? No matter—I rushed over to pick them up again, glancing across the bed at the silent prince. Still busy with his work, as though I weren't there.

Only then did I notice the clothes draped over the side of the mattress.

I furrowed a brow as I rose—having sworn that the room was in order when I walked in. I sauntered toward them slowly, and began to pick them up. Heavy as they were, it was a struggle to hold them up high enough to fold. I glanced at Loki, noting the strength he must have int hat lean body, to move so gracefully in such heavy clothes. Naturally, I could have used the seidr—poorly—to help me lift it the slightest bit, but that would have been enacting a death wish.

I was nearly finished with that task, when the books fell behind me again. This time, there seemed to be more of them than before. And again, I was baffled by the extent of my absentmindedness—I must have been truly exhausted to have missed that many books.

Once that was finished, I turned back to the rag I'd left on the mantle. My hide boots scraped against the hearth as I approached it, and looked down to notice that soot had strewn from the fireplace a bit.

It had gone quite far, and I wondered if I had kicked it out myself accidentally.

I looked down at my belt with a frown—there was no broom for me to have taken with me, so all I had were my hands. Once more, I could have used the seidr—as I had done many times before—but this was neither the time, nor the place. It never would be. Not with the ever watchful eyes and senses of the masterful practitioner seated just across the room behind me.

The hearth was rough against my hands, but they were well callused from years of hard work. Hard work that I had shared with my mother…

I swallowed thickly, blinking twice to stifle the tears the rose.

" _My breakfast_." A deep voice swept across the room.

My head snapped up toward him. Loki remained at his desk, and his words intensified the nervousness he'd already been imposing. Over time, it would likely subside, but for now, it flared with an unbridled force at the realization that I came here empty handed. No one told me that I was to bring his breakfast…

I stood, keeping my eyes on the ground as I stuttered, "F—forgive me, my Prince, I'll go fetch it for you now."

" _No,_ " he murmured as I made the first step toward the door. "Come here."

My eyes widened, and I tightened the rag between my fingers as I forced one foot in front of the other, until I was standing far off the side of the desk.

"Closer," Loki murmured smoothly, his neutral eyes still glued to the tome.

As I drew near, he finally stopped, and shifted toward me in his seat. I kept my eyes down as his knees pivoted into my line of sight. I trailed over the detailing of his green, leather apparel, the fine craft of his boots… And I could feel Loki's eyes on me above—studying me, observing me. I was bare under his scrutinizing gaze. No doubt he could use his power to peer into my very soul.

I merely stood there for a time, and when the Prince said nothing, I murmured, "You don't want me to bring you breakfast?"

"You will learn what I want from you in time," he muttered smoothly, his words inciting a frail shudder.

I gave a perfunctory nod. "Yes, my lord."

Loki suddenly stood, his legs straightening to their long length. I stumbled back as he stepped forward, towering over me by at least a head. I'd never stood this close to the lesser prince before, and all the times that I'd secretly admired his handsome features were diminished by the unbridled terror of his royal stature. Our mutual knowledge of his unchallenged mastery of the broad arcane arts...

Color tinged my cheeks, as I began to feel severely unpolished before him. As a person, as a woman, a magician...a comparably uneducated novice.

A slave, through and through.

The first to ever set foot in a royal chamber.

A fragrant breeze blew over me as he strode by, smelling of citrus and fresh rain. "Follow."

 

***

 

The slave girl trailed after Loki as he sauntered through the palace. Out in one of the courtyards, a small multitude of tables had been set for the following day's festivities. The golden spires of the palace towered over them all, casting pleasant shadows over the courtyards.

Music had been playing somewhere far off, but it was too faint for any of them to hear. Loki felt the woman's presence teetering after him, like a small shadow in the wake of an ambient day, and stopped sharply when he neared his table. After keeping pace with his long steps, she nearly collided into him—and the look of momentary terror on her features, with the sudden color in her cheeks, tempted his amusement.

Loki paused a moment to observe her—ungroomed, but womanly. Fear did little to compliment what could be a pleasant demeanor. She stared at his chest, swallowing thickly and subduing the heaving apprehension in her every breath. Was he really that intimidating? No one else seemed to think so.

His eyes flickered down to her chest momentarily, at the rise and fall of her breast beneath the tunic. How amusing it would be to say nothing at all, and see if she followed him to the table…

Without another word, Loki turned and walked toward the group of noblemen he'd long become acquainted with—worshipers of Odin's rule, still, but at least they were marginally less inclined to join on the boisterous activities of the week.

"Prince Loki!" Ardrich—one of the lesser magicians—greeted him. "How good of you to join us."

"Good indeed," Loki grinned flatly as he sat down beside him, glancing at Aila, still standing where he'd left her. Smart girl.

"Ever the perky one, aren't you?" Another—Lariana—murmured across the table, offering him a cunning smile as she glanced to the side. "And this charming young… _thing_ you've brought with you—who is she?"

Tension rippled in Aila's angular jaw, but her expression remained icy—dead. Before answering, Loki offered a bemused, diplomatic grin to Lariana, and lifted his empty glass up to his shoulder.

"My new serving woman." His eyes were fixed on Aila's slitted stare, on the innate thoughtfulness with which she peered at the ground. " _Aila._ "

Her name was a command, and Loki lifted his chin as he waited for the spark of realization. True enough, it took her a moment to realize that he'd actually called her over.

Her eyes flitted about for a moment, until she spotted what was needed—a decanter of wine. Moments later, she appeared with it at his side, and the wine glass grew heavy as she carefully poured the contents into it.

Lariana narrowed her eyes, and spoke mirthfully, "Well I know it's been some time since we were here, but weren't slaves reserved for the lesser work around the castle?" she eyed the girl. "Such skulking, worthless creatures—just _look_ at her."

The girl's hands tensed as she stepped back. A strange marker—slaves should be accustomed to being spoken to thusly.

Loki smiled wryly. "A _skulking_ creature," he mused darkly, his voice dripping with all the finely tuned manners of a diplomat, entertaining some important guests on an important day. "A bitter depiction, one might say."

Lariana arched a brow to her friend, the Prince. "Truest to her likeness."

Loki glanced at her over his shoulder. Aila stepped back slightly, her lovely, fearful features frozen in a downward gaze. It would have been easier to mask her hurt with seidr—yet another form of it that she either did not know, or did not dare to risk.

"Do you think yourself worthless?" Loki muttered to her amusedly, and the table fell silent. Aila pressed her lips together, and remained steadfast in her downward stare. "Look at me when I speak to you," he ordered.

Now the table had _really_ gone quiet—all waiting to see whether the woman would answer. There was the greatest reluctance in her expression, and he could practically see the indecision flitting in her eyes. Trying to discern if she would survive his command—though naturally, none would harm her in his presence. What happened afterward was not his concern. Some semblance of a sharp breath twinged in her chest, and Loki narrowed his gaze as her eyes shot up to his. The rest of her remained taut.

As Loki suspected, for a brief moment, she looked as though she'd forgotten she were a slave—another useful bit of information. Something to reveal her character, the confidence that a practitioner of seidr should display. Something that was _taught,_ not learned...so who had taught her?

Technically, this act alone was a crime for which any other master would punish her severely. Even if he _had_ invited it. Much in the same way that a slave would be punished for accepting an Asgardian's courtship.

Aila nodded her chin—answering the question correctly.

A sly grin threatened the corner of Loki's mouth, and he held her eyes for a moment. A twinge of amusement bloomed at the faintest color that touched her cheeks, and she was the first to look away.

Loki turned back toward the table—scheming inwardly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankies for the support I'm already getting :D I had some time to write this today, so here ya go. Hope we're off to a good start.


	3. I See You

Nearly a week had gone by since I began working for the Prince. Bit by bit, I’d begun turning to autopilot, since he himself hardly acknowledged me most of the time. I became accustomed to his neutral presence—ever writing, ever reading. Always at his desk. He was just another figure in the room, along with all the furniture. Though despite the calmness of the environment, I continued to struggle inwardly. Nothing having to do with him, of course—all to do with my mother’s passing…onward was the long, arduous journey of grieving her death.

It was evening time on the seventh day, and I finally had a bit more lightness to my step as I carried the Prince’s dinner to his room. The guards had become accustomed to seeing me, as I usually traversed these hollow halls alone. Holding the tray, I slowly entered the Prince’s chamber after an unanswered knock. Everything was dark, save for the light of the fireplace, and brightness poured out from the bathroom in an arch shape.

The Prince was showering, and the intensity of the water pressure was palpable—I could hear his movements interrupting the spritzing current. It was easy to shrug off. Tonight, all I needed to do was avoid the archway, set up his dinner on the table, and be on my way.

Tonight of all nights, the moments couldn’t go by any quicker… Tonight was the night that Davos had promised he would attempt to retrieve a particular item of my mother’s, which was taken the night she died—a music box she kept in secret. I’d been looking forward to it for days.

I’d grown up listening to it. I knew the tune by heart, and mother even taught me a few, sweet lyrics to match for my entertainment. They were affectionate words, and comforted me whenever I felt alone. Naturally, we could only listen to it in secret, on the nights that we’d snuck into the guarded chambers of the palace. Most notably the throne room—the one place in the palace that needed no guards, because it was so heavily protected by magic. Magic that my mother was able to undo at the doors, and soon taught me to do the same.

The glittering image of the little device danced before my eyes. In a pulse of joy, I hummed the first few notes, while busying myself with re-folding the napkin that had come apart. The shower movements suddenly paused—and so did my own, when I realized what had happened. I glanced toward the glowing archway, and slowly resumed folding the napkin without a sound. The movements continued shortly after as well.

Still, it didn’t deter me. Though if anyone knew that mother possessed such a thing, she would have crawled from the dungeons with deep gashes along her back and front… The same fate would befall me if I wasn’t careful.

The only worry now was that they might have taken it to the treasury—it had some gold, yes, but it was so small and insignificant. It couldn’t possibly add to the treasures of Asgard.

I arranged the utensils and plate, and uncorked the ceramic wine jug, carefully pouring it into one of the fine goblets. The savoriness of the poultry, vegetables and steaming biscuit hardly fazed me, despite having finished my rations for the day. Slowly but surely, I returned to autopilot—my mind was so far elsewhere, anxiously buzzing to have the little metal box back in my hands.

The water had turned off without my noticing, and only the shadow of the Prince sauntering into the bedroom had made me realize it. I glanced in his direction instinctively, remembering to cast my eyes back down before he caught me looking. He was clothed—thankfully—in a long, dark robe that trailed to the ground behind him a bit, leaving only his chest a bit bare. Pants kicked out as he strode toward the table, his dark, wet hair sticking to his neck and sides of his face.

Self-consciousness sparked through me when he got close. Standing tall and lean before me, invisible steam and heat seemed to plume from his body, and he smelled so _good_ …like an array of fragrant spices. Which could only make him—along with every other man—so much more attractive. As though _my_ Prince needed the help, of all the men out there.

Slaves were allowed to shower—thank the Norns—but we were never given such sweet smelling substances to wash ourselves with.

I stepped away, watching him in the corners of my eyes. He was tying his robe with a sash as he stepped up to the table, and looked over his food. And when he pulled the chair out without a word, I shuffled away—returning to autopilot. Just a few more chores, and I’d be done for the day…

 

 

***

 

 

Loki heard the humming instantly. It was brief, but her voice was decidedly sweet. Perhaps it was another manifestation of her seidr, and he was too far to sense its subtleties. He’d tried for a number of days to tempt it from her, but had grown bored with it after some time.

As he usually did—women seldom held his attention, in any capacity.

He might’ve even regretted employing her, had she not done such an excellent job in his service. His food was always hot, clothes folded, room scrubbed clean. She was either competent, or eager to please—or fearful, judging by their initial interactions.

Still, she sauntered more freely about his chamber in a matter of days, though her demeanor remained meek and humble. They had slowly fallen into a routine—every day, Loki woke, knowing that he’d soon hear the sound of her gentle patting on the door. That he’d smell the breakfast she’d brought him. In the mornings and afternoons, she’d trail after him throughout the palace—either caring for his armor and equipment, or carrying books back to their place in the library. In the evenings, she completed her chores.

Palace life was so dull… And the slave had otherwise proved to be just as dull—though her presence did, at least, provide some semblance of a distraction. At least she was pleasant to look at—for all intents and purposes, she was a beautiful woman. Despite her thinness, it certainly wasn’t an eyesore to notice the sway of her hips as she walked by—which were much more easily seen through her half-skirt apparel—nor the other ample parts of her figure.

Loki was a man, after all. Why not enjoy these pleasures in their barest form?

He would never pursue it further, of course. Save for demeaning himself by laying with a slave, it would mean death for the girl—and she was far too wonderful a servant to sacrifice. Even if it would reunite her with her mother.

On the seventh night, she was folding his clothes while Loki sat at the table, enjoying his dinner. An impulse tugged at him, and he slid his gaze toward Aila at the foot of his bed, scraping his eyes over her backside. So beautifully formed, yet so thin… Too thin. Could she continue on with her duties for long, in such a state? Perhaps he ought to offer her some of his food one of these days—

“My Prince,” she murmured smoothly as she began to turn. Without a care, Loki looked back down at his food. “Is there anything else you require of me tonight?”

“No,” he answered briskly. “You may go.”

In the corner of his eye, he saw her curtsy as he took another bite, and make a quick beeline toward the door. Odd. Loki looked over his shoulder as the door opened, furrowing a brow when another figure moved about in the dark, just outside his room. The fork slid from his lips, and his attention narrowed—tuning in to the conversation just outside his door.

“ _Not here…”_ Aila whispered. “ _Down the hall—move.”_

“ _Aila,”_ a second, male voice answered as she clearly shoved him excitedly. “ _Aila, I couldn’t find it.”_

The shuffling in the hallway stopped. _“…What?”_ her voice lilted painfully, a bit more loudly this time. “ _What happened?”_

“ _I couldn’t find it… they must have taken it to the treasury. I’m sorry, Aila… I’m so sorry.”_

Silence fell into the space.

Aila let out a shaker breath. “ _Okay,”_ her voice trembled—she struggled to control it. _“Thank you for trying, Davos.”_

“ _Maybe I can… find you something else,”_ the male voice insisted. “ _I can smuggle in another one.”_

Another what? Loki narrowed his eyes, now facing the door entirely in his chair—staring at the wood, as though he could peer beyond it.

“ _No, it’s not worth it… don’t risk something like that, they’ll have you killed.”_

 _“It’s worth it to me…”_ the voice trailed off.

Another, longer bout of silence ensued. Lasting quite a bit longer than Loki might anticipate—what was happening outside the door?

“ _Let’s go,”_ the male voice appeared again, speaking softly. “ _It’s late, we should get some rest. You can stay with me if you like.”_

“ _I—Not yet,”_ Aila answered. “ _I have a few more things to do for the Prince, then I’ll be down there myself.”_

Loki arched a brow. A lewd retort danced mischievously across his thoughts, but he waved it away in an instant.

“ _Do you want me to wait for you?”_

“ _No, no—go without me, I’ll be a while.”_

_“….Alright, Aila. Whatever you want.”_

Another momentary silence. Aila’s feet shuffled back against the floors, less energetically this time, and stopped at his door. The male’s feet disappeared around the corner, and Loki waited for a moment—staring where he knew she stood. One moment passed, two… And her feet picked up, carrying her elsewhere.

Was she finally doing something interesting? Perhaps this was the night? Loki rose to his feet, leaving his dinner behind as he masked his footsteps—quickly passing through his door, and following her in the direction he’d heard her go in.

Loki was keener this time, more careful and attentive. After a few moments of searching, he was pleased to have not lost her this time, having caught sight of her within moments—striding briskly down one of the halls.

His wet hair began to dry at the pace he was walking in, though he kept close to the pillars, his robe billowing slightly behind him. Whatever guards they passed remained silent. No one would dare question what a Prince of Asgard was doing—even if he were lurking after a woman.

A _slave._

The god moved swiftly across the floors, trailing after her quietly. They’d turned several corners and descended a few stairs, with the occasional rays of moonlight bathing them in a pale glow, breaking the darkness occasionally. All the while, Loki studied her pleasant backside keenly—where on _earth_ was this woman leading him?

Loki furrowed a brow when he realized the destination—she was headed toward the throne room. There were no guards on this level. There was no need for them, since there was magic guarding all doorways to the massive room. Loki strode behind a pillar as she sauntered toward one such entrance, and watched her quietly as she raised a hand up to the locks—which kept all the side doors sealed. She seemed to struggle for a moment, and sighed when the locks finally came loose.

Loki’s demeanor hardened. Whatever her intentions, this was still a serious crime… A very, _very_ serious crime. If her fingers touched even a bit of the gold inside, Loki would reprimand her immediately.

He followed slowly after she disappeared behind the door, resealing it behind her. Naturally, Loki opened it much more skillfully—much more quietly—than she did. And he didn’t see her at first when he paced into the massive space, which was dark. Nearly pitch black, in fact, save for the moonlight streaming in from the tall window above the throne. All the gold was gleaming, and the slave was an insignificant shadow sifting about in the dark.

So was Loki. A tall, menacing predator in the dark.

He pinpointed her in the center of the hall, and quietly shifted toward one of the large pillars—where he had a clearer view of her under the moonlight. All the torches had been doused, and for a time, she merely…stood there. Stood and stared out the window, it seemed, until she looked down at her hands. By the way the shadows contorted across her features, Loki could see that she was crying.

Well, she certainly chose an interesting place to cry…

With a flick of her wrist, Loki narrowed his eyes. Faint sparks of gold jumped from her fingers as she did it again. Aila sighed frustratedly, and then began waving her hand in a fluid motion. She closed her eyes, straightening to a tall height—taller than Loki had ever seen her stand before. Prouder. With her shoulders rolled back, and chin held high for a person of her station.

Aila’s face remained taut—painfully determined, even—and soon enough, the gold sparks began to emanate again, following the trail of her movements. Loki grinned contentedly at having finally seen the color of her seidr—or having seen her use it at all… So that first night was _not_ an involuntary accident.

How _interesting._

Even when she cried, she did so standing upright. And again, Loki wondered who had taught her this—

_Mother._

_Her mother._

Of course. Who else would dare to furnish her with such ideas—a slave, ever standing at the height of a lady? Carrying herself as a noble? The only curiosity now, was her mother’s origin. Though this information could come in time, with trust and manipulation.

His fascination with the sight of her seidr was soon interrupted by the faint sound of music. A sweet, simple tune, which grew with a faint, echoing chorus as the moments passed—as Aila began to step in a broad circle before the throne. Her eyes had begun to relax, as though she’d gotten her handle on the seidr, and she pivoted. Her shadow danced under the moonlight.

The swaths of gold remained when she lowered her hands down to her hips, though the beautiful music suddenly intensified when she threw them up again before her. A golden, wafting figure suddenly appeared in the shape of a man, catching her arm on his shoulder, and taking her hand as he swept her to the side.

Loki’s eyes widened at the sight of her phantom dance partner—this slave was _exceptionally_ gifted in projections, it seemed. And though the movements must have been rehearsed, there was still a freedom about them—seemingly made easier by the pants she wore, instead of the heavy skirts worn by true women of the court.

He was transfixed. Utterly transfixed, and his eyes jumped from the woman, to her partner. To her light brown locks bouncing beautifully, to the the golden glow of her partner—his composition shone in dwindling patches and intermittent rays around the room, cutting through the dull moonlight streaming in.

It was a sight to behold, and Loki found himself speechless. 

When she drew nearer to the column he stood behind, an impulse pulled him further into the shadows—as though _he_ had something to fear in being discovered…

And try as he might, Loki could not make out the features of the man. Despite the way she appeared to lean her arm on his shoulder, to hold his hand, the figure shifted in all the sparks that he was made of. He was not a solid form…or was he? Loki could only make out the faint outlines of a tunic, and his obvious, considerable height. Nothing else was easy to see—particularly not the features of his face.

Aila appeared relaxed at first, despite the purposeful strides around the room, but grew more determined as the figure began to flicker. It was then that she began to struggle, that the frustration began to show in her face. She stared steadfast into what should have been his eyes, and pretty soon, she began to falter.

It finally disappeared mid movement, as she let out a sob. One moment she was standing, and the next, she fell to the ground near the throne’s staircase.

The golden lights had disappeared, and the two of them were back in the pitch-black darkness. Loki pursed his lips, remaining quiet as he watched her crumble to a writhing ball of weeping flesh. A broken woman, alone in the world. 

She sobbed and sobbed, but Loki could only feel fascination—pure, unbridled fascination with what he had just seen. She seemed so plain when she came to him every day. Just another servant—another slave—going about her day.

He arched a brow as she speared her fingers aggressively through her hair, and then jerked them downward in an agonizing cry, while lurching up into a seated position. Loki nearly flinched when he watched her right wrist collide with the corner of the bottom step. Aila bent over in a fit of pain, stifling her cry with a bitten lip. Even from there, Loki could see that it began to bleed, and had decided that… yes, this was enough. Let her grieve in peace. There was nothing more to see here.

Eyes fixed on the crying slave, he straightened to his full height, and stepped back into the darkness—closer to the door. Tomorrow, she would see him.

He’d seen her—for the first time, it seemed—tonight.

And what an interesting specimen she was.

 

 

***

 

 

Fucking devastated.

That’s how I felt for the entirety of the night, after Davos had told me he couldn’t find the music box. Even his lips did nothing to assuage the pain…not that they ever had that effect before, but they couldn’t distract me, either.Not from this.

There was no knowing whether the Prince would notice my eyes’ puffiness this morning. I had barely slept all night, but that didn’t stop me from traversing the halls on time, carrying Loki’s breakfast with one hand only—and minimal support from the other. I’d hit my wrist so hard against the stairs in a fit of rage, it continued to hurt without movement. Anything more than that was agonizing.

I knocked first, and at the lack of protest, I entered the room—wincing when my wrist accidentally caught against the door. I first glanced toward the desk, and furrowed a brow slightly when he wasn’t there. It only took a second to otherwise notice that he was still in his bed.

A book in his hands, the Prince’s smooth chest was bare as he sat up against the bedpost, reading. A white sheet covered the rest of his stripped body, and the blanket was strewn across his legs. My eyes dropped down to the ground immediately, widening a bit as his form burned into my mind. My jaw tensed, and color flushed to my cheeks as I set the new tray down on the table—the old one must have been picked up outside the door, when he set it there.

I was mildly startled when the Prince suddenly mused smoothly, “What happened to your hand?”

“Sorry?” I swept my gaze to the ground beside his bed.

“Your hand,” he repeated, turning the page of his book. “What happened to it?”

I looked down at my bandaged wrist. 

“I…fell,” I murmured, and turned back to set up his breakfast.

He answered without hesitation, “And your lip?”

I paused, furrowing a brow confusedly. “I—I bit it when I fell.”

“…how unfortunate.”

The cut on my lip stung a little as I pressed my lips together, wondering why he wondered about my health at all. I ran my tongue over it as I continued setting up his breakfast, and turned back to start the day off. It’d begin by laying out his daggers and armor—which I polished every morning that he planned to go out to the training ring. The stand beside his bed is where he kept it, and I made a beeline for it from the table.

Suddenly, the Prince raised his arm up casually, stopping me when I got close. I paused mid-step, staring at the toned limb hanging relaxedly in the air.

“Um… My Prince?”

“Give it here.”

My brows creased. “G—Give you what?”

“Your hand.”

I shifted away from him instinctively, suddenly feeling the remnants of the week’s earlier fears seeping in again. Seven days had passed, and in all that time, the Prince hadn’t said a single excess word to me—barely acknowledging that I existed. Why did he suddenly care about my hand?

He swiveled his fingers indicatively—as though he were growing impatient. When I lifted my left hand reluctantly, he clicked his tongue and flipped another page. “Now why would I want that one?”

He kept his gaze fixed on the pages. It allowed me to glance up at him a bit. I pulled it back, offering my right one instead, and slated it over his suspended hand. My breath nearly hitched as his fingers brushed the underside of my palm, pulling back to grasp my bare fingers.

My eyes jumped between our point of contact, and his face—hands, face, hands, face. A Prince of Asgard was _touching_ me…and my cheeks responded accordingly.

A plume of heat slowly emanated from his hand, while he licked his other finger to turn the page again, looking perfectly bored—as though nothing were happening at all. Though on my end, the feeling was so soft, so pleasant as it concentrated around my wrist…with seemingly no intention to stop. The warmth spread through the rest of my hand, into my chest, and up to my lip—healing that, too.

It was so warm, so powerful… As though he’d burrowed into me, and existed within my body in that moment.

 _Loki’s_ seidr. Everything I might’ve imagined it would be… My mother had told me once upon a time, that to share one’s seidr with another was an act of closeness. Even if the giving party refused to look the receiving one in the eye. 

Though that hardly made sense to me now—not only was I a slave, unworthy in his eyes of such affection—he was healing me. So it couldn’t be as mother said—the healers couldn’t possibly do this to every single patient. It would be… inappropriate. To make their faces the way that mine was now. Or perhaps the patients had grown accustomed to the care, and no longer experienced it so… _intimately_.

I felt the color reach my cheeks, and accidentally sighed a bit louder than I intended—though the Prince didn’t seem to notice. I couldn’t help but stare at him now. At his regal face, his jade eyes darting neutrally over the lines of his book, the handsome contrasting of his hair and complexion… I was staring unabashedly, and could not look away—and was nearly tempted to grasp his fingers with my own. The pain had slowly faded, and the warmth disappeared as he pulled back his hand.

Only then did I blink, with reality flushing through me, reminding me to look away. I clenched my hand into a fist once or twice, to test it out—it was working _perfectly._

I dared a glance at him, as though suddenly realizing this act of… _kindness?_

“Thank…you.” I breathed out.

His eyes flickered toward me, though they didn’t rise beyond my waist. “You’re welcome,” he answered. “Now get back to work.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was DYIIIING to write this chapter. Honestly. I was feeling creatively inspired. I hope you guys enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. :) Til next time!
> 
> PS: I dedicate this chapter to the three of you who have already commented in this short period, and shown support for the story. Thank you guys so much.


	4. Never before, never again

I shadowed the Prince in the weeks that followed. Always nearby, and ever silent. I could probably stitch him a new pair of boots, with how well I’d come to know the designs of the several pairs he rotated through. All the tension from his moment of kindness had faded over the past few weeks, and thinking back to it no longer affected me. Though obviously, there was, and would always be a part of me that remembered his seidr vividly. The warmth, the intimacy… it was only difficult to look at him for the week that followed that incident. The excitement faded shortly after, and everything went back to normal.

  
As normal as could be, anyway… I certainly wasn’t used to averting all my energy and attention to one person, as I did to him. Though the work was never particularly arduous, and I often went back to the catacombs without feeling terribly tired. Only Davos seemed to notice the change—he always did keep a close, affectionate eye on me.

Granted, over the years, I’d become quite protective of him as well—naturally, I don’t think I would have grown so close to him in more intimate ways if there was never a scintilla of romantic affection.

The catacombs were generally quiet when I returned at night. Though they came second to the library, which was undoubtedly the most peaceful place in the palace. The Prince seemed to favor it most, and so did I—particularly on sunny days, when natural light was abundant for his reading.

To keep me occupied, Loki often instructed me to go about sorting other books that had been left behind—or perhaps finding others that might be relevant to whatever it was he was perusing.

This week, the subject was forest beasts. Mountain wisps, to be specific—or so the tome read. It was all part of some project that Queen Frigga had recently embarked on, for the purpose of discovering some cure to an ailment that had befallen a few of the nine realms…though the wisps’ relevance to the matter was beyond me. They were beautiful creatures, but reclusive and gentle. It made me nervous to think that anyone in the palace would venture to capture one.

It almost felt personal.

Apart from my use of the seidr, the second greatest secret that I would fall to the grave with, were the forest excursions with my mother. Also late at night. when wisps were easily found (one single factoid that the tomes guessed correctly). She was much more gifted with other forms of magic than I was, so it was easy to escape, though we never dared to venture further into the menacing mountains of Asgard. There, we would be defenseless against the terrors of our realm…

I brushed the dust off one of the tomes, and rose to my toes to put it back up on the shelf…nearly stumbling over in place when my stomach growled loudly. I froze mid-movement—hovering the book just above my head—and glanced at the Prince over my shoulder.

A pile of books lay on the stool beside him, while he himself sat contentedly facing the sunlight, one leg kicked over the other. I let out a quiet sigh when he made no acknowledgement of the sound, simply continuing on with the complex language of the foreign tome.

There were two more books on the small stretch of desk that ran along the base of the tall shelves. My stomach gave it another go the moment I picked them up, and I scurried around the corner so as to not disturb the man—in case my stomach continued to decide that I was purposefully withholding food.

“Aila.” I heard my name, and frowned anxiously. Dropping my eyes to the ground, I set the books down and returned to the row where Loki sat. In my downward vision, I could see him sitting motionlessly, turning the page as he continued staring at the book. “Fetch my lunch, and bring it to my chambers.” 

“Yes, my Prince,” I murmured lowly and turned to leave.

“—and eat it.”

I stopped, and white-hot nervousness slowly seeped into my chest. At face value, it may have seemed like another kindness, but if anyone— _anyone_ —knew that I’d tasted the Prince’s food, my clothes would be soaked with blood. He hadn’t expressed any interest in extending his protection, and what happened to a slave after their working hours was none of their employer’s concern.

“ _What?_ ” I murmured as I turned and faced him. 

“Consider it an order,” he muttered matter-of-factly. “Go. Return to me when you’re finished.”

I shook my head. “W—why?” 

“If you lose any more weight, you’ll _disappear,_ ” he remarked casually—as though he hadn’t just ordered me to commit a tempting crime. “ _Go._ ”

It took me a moment to turn away, to tear my eyes from him, feeling somewhat dazed. That took quite some time to dissipate. There was fear, obviously, but each subsequent step away from the Prince yielded anticipation.

The more I thought about it, the more I recalled that his meals always looked _divine._ The juiciest meats, the most nutritious fruits and vegetables. There was no wonder that he himself was so strong and lean—there was no excuse to be anything else, with such exquisite nutrition.

By the time I reached the kitchens, my steps had grown quicker and quicker in pace. And when the food was brought to me, I merely stared at it for a moment—situated atop an ornate metal tray, in the middle of a stone table. The oven fire flickered just beyond it, where the food had just been pulled from. A delicious looking steak, with fragrant cut potatoes, various vegetables and wine, and a separate dish for fruits.

I was to eat _all_ of this myself?

I grinned a bit—secretly. And my chest warmed at the thought of returning to the prince, thanking him. I would even save the bowl of fruit for him, perhaps—I’d be remiss to let him go hungry on my behalf.

My heart pounded as I carried the tray to Loki’s chamber, and the knocking at his door was deafened by my own blood pumping in my ears. I turned the corner, and came to an abrupt stop when I recognized that I was not alone.

Astrid.

The servant girl who had come out of the Prince’s chamber the night of the banquet—his favor for that night, no doubt. But what she doing outside him room? Even for a servant, it was inappropriate…

She stopped abruptly as well, and we both stood stock-still for a moment or so. I could see herfrown—her eyes motioning between myself, the tray, and the door. “So he is ignoring me, then…” she mumbled, a bit sadly.

My eyes remained fixed on the floor as she approached me, and I thinned my lips into a straight line—feeling nervous for a different reason. 

“Of all the… _others_ he could have chosen for his care, he picked you,” she suddenly mused, her feminine voice lacing with hostility. “Why? Are you so adept at what you do, slave?” she went on, and I didn’t move. Not even at the alarming aggression in her tone. “Do you _satisfy_ him?”

She stepped close enough for me to perceive the rise and fall of her chest. In a flash of movement, her hand gripped the edge of the tray, and tugged it to the ground—too quick for me to realize, and it tumbled from my hands. I gasped, horrified, and recoiled—while my heart leapt into my throat.

Most of it shattered, and pieces of glass got all over the food. Save for the fruit bowl, which remained intact—merely knocked over halfway, though barely any of the fruits had tumbled from it. I flinched as she stepped on the food. Gently enough to omit a footstep, but enough for me to know that it was ruined…finally, she kicked the bowl of fruit to the side, and was finished.

The swell of joy had quickly rotted in my heart, and my eyes filled with tears—flowing quickly down my cheeks as I stared down at the broken plates, strewn about and around the metal tray. The horrible waste of food, and waste of kindness. Astrid’s footsteps tapped against the floor as she strode off, leaving me alone in the space.

I began to cry. Even though I was a grown woman, I wept like an offended child who had just been paid something immeasurably unfair. My chest tightened as I bent down to the floor slowly, and sobbed intermittently as I swept up the broken pieces. I crouched for some time, crying into my wrist before the pile, and finally lifted it up. Instead of going back to the kitchens, I took the tray into the Prince’s chamber, setting it down in front of the table.

I sat in one of the chairs, pulling my knees up to my chest as I carefully picked apart the broken pieces. The tears had dried around my eyes, enough for me to focus on the myriad of _nothing_ that I would get from this. The smallest pieces of glass had been forced into the steak and vegetables under her weight, though the fruits seemed alright. None of the shards had flown toward those, though I carried them to the bathroom and washed them anyway. 

I wept a bit longer, just a bit, before returning to the kitchens.

 

  
***

 

Loki was assuredly confident in his decision. If Aila was to remain in his service, she would need to survive the harsh conditions of a slave—and if she was hungry by midday, that was hardly conducive to strength enough to serve him until the evening. Or even the next day.

So he had sent her on her way, and expected her to return at least an hour later.

Such was his surprise, when the library doors creaked open rather early.

By this point, Loki had learned the patterns of her dainty footfall enough to know when she was approaching. He glanced up when she appeared around the corner—eyes cast down, as usual—and he arched a brow at the bowl of fruit in her hands, only a quarter eaten. “What’s this?”

She strode toward him unflinchingly, and set the bowl down on the desk beside him. He blinked as she suddenly crouched down on one knee beside him, her neutral face upright, but her eyes were lowered to the arm rest. He stared a bit at the hints of red brimming in the corners, focusing on that instead of the book weighing heavily in his hands.

“I wanted to leave some for you—it was more food than I was accustomed to, and I know you don’t eat dinner until much later,” she said dryly, and bowed her head. “I’m very grateful for your kindness, my Prince.”

He glanced at the bowl—what she had thought to keep, to stay his hunger in exchange for her own—and back. Aila’s tone had hardly matched the solemn look etched across her features, and Loki furrowed a brow at her suspiciously. “Why do you look upset?” 

Aila blinked surprisedly, lip trembling a bit as she made to respond, “I—I’m not upset…”

“You are.”

She shook her head.

Loki huffed a bit annoyedly. “Look at me,” he demanded, and narrowed his gaze at the woman sealing her lips. Her almond eyes rose reluctantly, prideful brows creased. Loki raked his gaze over her shaken features, from her furrowed brow to her damp, bitten lip. “What happened?”

He’d never looked into her eyes this long before, nor she into his. In fact, before this moment, it was unlikely that there had ever been such an interaction between a nobleman and a slave—and the look in Aila’s eyes was telling that she’d considered the same thing. She was nervous, but also bright—apprehensive and wise, and her natural expression appeared to be a feline thoughtfulness. Concocting the next thought.

“Tell me,” he murmured again, softer this time.

Aila pressed her lips together reluctantly. “Astrid—a servant—knocked the tray from my hands.”

Loki narrowed his eyes. “And why would she do that?”

“I don’t know.”

Her breathing shallowed, and pupils dilated the longer she stared at him—though the fear and reluctance in her eyes had shifted to something else. As though the brief exchange had fostered a bit of comfort.

“Would you like me to have her punished?”

Aila shook her head, almost immediately. “No.”

“Come now,” he purred. “How else shall I prevent this woman from harassing you?”

She shrugged a little, easing into a grin as color ghosted her cheeks.

 _How sweet._ Loki briefly wondered whether he should diminish a bit, and look away.

It was a fleeting thought, and a smile tugged on the corner of his lip instead. The longer he studied her, relishing the brief lightness between them, the more his wonderment began to shift. For a moment, he considered how she might look if she had knelt in front of the chair, instead of beside it. And perhaps, with his leg perched on the stool, and hand spearing through her soft locks, how would she look? Gazing up at him, as she.…

Loki blinked the thought away, and was the first to break the stare—owing to the footsteps that suddenly approached, at this most opportune time.

 _Good…_ Such thoughts were dangerous. No more of that.

“Brother,” Thor suddenly appeared from around the corner, immediately furrowing a brow at the state of Loki’s slave—kneeling beside him, and turning her face away. Red had fully tinted her cheeks at his approach. “Father wants to see us.”

Loki stared up at his brother for a moment, and nodded. “Come,” he murmured to Aila as he stood, who had yet to rise to her feet.

He heard the scrape of the plate as he followed Thor from the library, and to the throne room. Aila’s footsteps pattered behind him, keeping a respectable distance as always, and he watched her trail over to the columns once they approached the King. Frigga stood at the base of the stairs, and gave them a warm grin before embracing them both.

“My sons,” she murmured softly, though her tone was laced with a bit of worry. “I’m happy you got here quickly.”

“Why, what’s wrong?” Thor asked as she pulled away. 

“That is for me to tell you,” Odin said from atop his throne, and paused for a moment. “A Haelstrom is approaching Asgard.”

Silence hardened throughout the hall. Loki’s eyes widened at the news, as he considered it carefully. From all that he had read, a Haelstrom was not like any intelligent, physical opponent that Asgard could face. Rather, it was a phenomenon of space itself—a collection of darting, writhing slits of matter that could cut through flesh like it was nothing. 

“Haelstrom?” Thor muttered. “What is that?”

“Something that has not happened in four thousand years,” Odin answered. “And in my time, I have only had to call this protocol once—it will be here in three months’ time, and we must be ready.”

“Asgard must be ready,” Frigga answered knowingly. “We will be safe behind the palace walls, but no one must be caught in the storm when it strikes. They’re said to only last a few moments, but they can go longer—and it will be devastating.”

Loki’s thoughts flitted about the matter. About Asgard, about their home, the surrounding villages… “What of your project, mother? The wisps? And the village people?”

“They will need to be notified,” she said. “And as for the creatures of the woods…the storm will strike during the winter months, I suspect there won’t be much of their home to destroy. They survived this once, I’m sure they will do so again.”

He nodded, and gave half a glance to the figure of Aila standing beside the column. “And what of the catacombs? Will our… _lesser residents_ survive?”

Movement flickered in Frigga’s brow.

“The catacombs will be sufficient protection,” Odin clarified. “We are the first to know of this forecast, though the news will spread quickly. As my sons, I expect you to do your part in remaining calm,” he eyed Loki. “Do not incite panic, or encourage it.”

A bitter grin tugged on the corner of Loki’s mouth. “Obviously.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOOOOO. Okay, so first off, sorry if this chapter was a little bit boring. But there was one very important thing that I wanted to establish with it.
> 
> I am, in part, a romance writer. This story has more romance proportionally than anything else (all my works will always have tension and romance and love and angst and everything you read in my fan fiction), and I want to make it clear that I am a big believer in tasteful physical intimacy. I think it's an important, relevant part of falling in love, and everything that comes with it is natural. If you're uncomfortable with adult themes, I don't recommend reading further, because there will be some important, defining moments for them down the line of that nature. 
> 
> Apart from that, the coming chapters are going to be much more exciting than this one. It'll hopefully be more emotional on the part of the reader than anything else, but I'm hoping to make their experiences together akin to when two people and two worlds collide. 
> 
> And guys, I seriously can't believe how much support I've gotten for this story. I read and reread and then reread your comments, particularly before writing another chapter - and lemme tell you, a lot of food for thought comes from it. Which has become a bit of an escape from my stressed out, nutso schedule lol. I just want to give you guys all the hugs, and I hope what's coming in this story doesn't disappoint. Thank you so much. :)


	5. Where the Apple Falls

Days spent at the training grounds were always easier on me, since there wasn’t much work for me to do. I generally stood—or sat—at the edge of the rink, while the Prince engaged with his brother, and the Warriors Three. I often wondered if they realized that he used magic, however subtle it was. The Prince’s movements were his own, but his seidr was ever-present. Always glowing beautifully in translucent wisps around his skin—practically unnoticeable. I’d have to look for it to find it most days, but it was always there to my liking, whenever I had a look.

And it was fascinating to behold. Not even my mother—who was exceptionally more gifted than I—brimmed with such magical energy. It didn’t plume from her in the middle of our lessons.

On any given day, the patter of my feet became customary behind the thump of his heavy boots. I trailed after him one perfect afternoon in a palace hallway, after a half-day in the rink, and evening time was near. It just before the start of a new week, and as usual, I strolled past him when we entered his chambers, making to fix him a hot bath in the bathroom—a post-shower routine that he regularly indulged.

I glanced at my reflection in the mirror before strolling back to the main chamber—feeling a bit nervous for the favor I was about to ask. 

“My Prince, I—” I stuttered, cheeks heating suddenly at the sight of contracting muscles, while he threw his shirt over his head. I tossed my gaze to the ground, but not before his eyes fell on me as he lowered his arms. I watched from afar as he casually balled the shirt in his hands, though I couldn’t make out his expression from the ground. “I—I’d like to request an early leave tonight.” 

The movement stunted a bit. “Really? And why is that?” 

“I have something to go to tonight.” I revealed freely.

In any other circumstances, I night’ve said nothing—I wouldn’t dare to breathe a word about my destination tonight…but the Prince had been kind to me through the course of these past few weeks. There was a trustworthiness about him, something about his lack of care of things that did not affect him directly. He struck me as the type of master would rather know, without consequence, than be lied to.

“Is that so?” The Prince tossed the matted shirt onto the bed, and sauntered toward me slowly, arms crossed over his toned chest. 

He stopped a bit closer to me than I anticipated, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure what to do with myself—the thought of lowering my eyes further down from his arms brought an uncomfortable redness to my face, but I didn’t want to stare right at him either. So my eyes flitted beside him instead—to the floor, just past the curve of his strong arm. His massive bed was on the other side…and I wasn’t about to stare at that instead.

“What would that be?” he asked.

“A wedding.” 

He paused. “A _wedding?”_

“Not a real wedding by anyone’s standards, I’m sure—not by the court’s standards, anyway,” I murmured lowly, grinning just a bit. “More of a gesture of sentiment. I’m sure you know that we can’t marry, so we ‘declare’ ourselves instead. Not an official capacity in any sense, but a declaration means something to our community.”

He muttered curiously, “And what might that be?”

“Love—of course.…protection, at times.”

He tilted his head. “Protection from what?”

I shrugged. “Other slaves, at most, for women. Loneliness, at least, for all of us together.”

The Prince stood silently for a time. “You’re very forthcoming, Aila,” he muttered grimly. “You realize who you’ve told this to?”

“Of course I do.” 

“…do you _wish_ me to report it?”

I furrowed a brow slightly, apprehension suddenly coiling in my stomach. “I—I didn’t think you’d tell anyone.”

“And why would you think that?” 

I shrugged, bringing my hands together nervously before me. “A long list of reasons, I suppose…”

Silence slipped between us for a moment, and I was tempted to shift uncomfortably—anything to taper his icy stance before me. “Well, you’ve clearly been quite pensive on the subject,” the Prince muttered lowly, without inquiring further—thankfully. “You’re dismissed, then. You may go.”

“A—Are you going to tell someone?”

“No.”

I nodded, letting out a relieved sigh. With an acknowledging curtsy, I headed toward the door.

“Aila?”   
I stopped, turning and looking down at the ground before his feet. “Yes?”

He paused. “Have _you_ declared yourself to anyone?” 

I furrowed a brow at his ruminative tone. Though all the same, Davos’ face flashed before my eyes—knowing I would likely declare myself to him one day, if he asked. I had always been aware of his affections, and he of the extent of mine. Perhaps it was unsatisfactory to him, and he was waiting for something greater than what we had—I would never fault him for that. Though as the state of our relationship related to me, well… he had only to ask, and I would’ve been his. 

“No,” I answered. “Not yet.”

For a moment, Prince Loki stood motionlessly across the room. Only when his boots shuffled toward the bathroom without a word, did I finally turn and leave the room. Relishing the coolness of the hallway rushing against my cheeks.

 

 

***

 

 

The movement was swift and subtle, but Loki had caught it—Aila glancing at herself in the mirror. As the weeks went by, he’d shared a number of his meals with the reluctant girl, and as time went by, she began filling her clothes in a womanly fashion.

The changes were subtle, likely only visible to the one man who’d seen her every day. And there they were, his ever-present, ever-pleasant distractions—hips, breasts, and cheeks filled in slightly. The woman was lovely, not at all difficult to look at. And her utter inability to hide the effects of his bare presence was doubly amusing— _endlessly_ satisfying.

Knowing she’d been staring at the ground, Loki took the liberty of drifting over her form a bit when she stood at the door, ready to leave. His tongue darted out to lick his lips as he turned one last time to look her over, before she left. In his mind, he noted yet another mystery of her that he discovered moments before—that the slaves had concocted their own form of marriage.

What else was there to learn about Aila, perhaps the others? Try as he might, he could not garner her to use her seidr, nor reveal any other aspect of her life—like who had taught it to her. It had become both an amusing and tiresome effort, and tonight, he would take advantage of Aila’s absence to enlist some help and advice.

Within an hour, he was on his way to his mother’s chambers, and the lack of footsteps trailing behind him was almost haunting. Granted, Aila hadn’t hung from him _all_ hours of the day, but there was something about the knowledge—or lack thereof—of the state of her whereabouts that unsettled him. He never liked being outside the ‘know’ of palace affairs.

“You wanted to see me, Loki?” The Queen greeted him warmly, after dismissing her handmaidens. “And you’re without your little shadow tonight,” she remarked, glancing in her mirror while Loki strode to the couches at the far end of the massive room.

He smirked amusedly. “Yes, she’s…” he paused. “She’s gone to a wedding, if you would believe it.”

Frigga’s brows shot up incredulously, and she turned toward him slowly in her vanity chair. “A… _wedding?”_

“—of sorts.” 

“I wasn’t aware that slaves _could_ marry.”

“They can’t.”

Her motherly gaze shifted weightily—to that of a satisfied activist, plotting in her thoughts. “Well, they must be finding ways to circumvent your father’s laws among their ranks…though I’m surprised she chose to share this with _you._ ”

True enough, Loki had been thinking about it since she did. “No more than I, mother.” 

“She must trust you very much. I hope you do not betray it.”

“Why would I do that?” Loki asked. Frigga arched a brow indicatively, staring at her son for a moment, until he rolled his eyes. “I would never betray it.”

“ _Never?_ ” His mother mused suspiciously, but was not met with a readied answer. “Well… perhaps in time, she will confide in you about other matters as well.” 

Something lightened in Loki’s chest at the thought—though only for a moment. “Perhaps not to the extent of her seidr,” he remarked somewhat bitterly, reviewing his efforts to trick the woman into revealing it. Indeed, he’d told the Queen of the slave’s practices—and just as he expected, his _mother_ aptly kept the secret that Aila didn’t know they shared. “In all my efforts, I haven’t managed to budge her on its usage.” 

“It is a grave offense, Loki,” Frigga said, raising a brow at her son. “And a personal matter in her eyes, for you and I—two such practitioners of it.”

Loki looked back confusedly. “I would never take personal offense to it.”

The queen shook her head knowingly. “For all that poor girl knows, you’d be dismayed at someone of her station tarnishing the craft.”

_Tarnish?_

“That’s hardly the word I’d use for it…” Loki’s voice trailed off, as his gaze slid to the floor—reminiscing on that night in the throne room.

“I wonder if her peers might know…” Frigga murmured under her breath, drawing Loki’s attention back to her. 

“Know what?”

“Of her practices.” Frigga looked at him gravely. “I suspect others would have betrayed her by now. Even the slaves must turn on each other, despite their mutual hardships. I’d be surprised to learn that she’s kept this from them…For only the three of us to know such a great secret, and two being precluded from conversing with her on the subject…it would be a lonely existence for her, atop the rest.”

“I wouldn’t know what she does and doesn’t tell her friends.” Loki shook his head. “I don’t know anything else about her life. I’ve never even been to the catacombs.” 

“Nor have I.” Frigga narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “Though I can’t imagine it’s pleasant down there—no sun or moonlight, to begin with.”

The thought of a wedding held in the dark tugged at Loki’s curiosity. “To think they’re having a celebration down there right now, then…” 

Frigga arched a brow, looking back at herself in the vanity. “Strange thought, isn’t it?” 

“A curious one—I can’t quite imagine it.” 

“Nor can I…” She nodded, eyes glazing over with a distant thought. Her fingers tapped against the desk before her.

Silence crept into the room for a moment, while mother and son sat separately—each delving into their own thoughts on the subject. Loki knew nothing of Aila’s world, of the slaves she resided with in the deepest bowels of the palace. How did she sleep at night, and on what? Was there security, or even light? Provisions, should they need them?

“ _Loki,_ ” Frigga said suddenly, and he blinked back to her—arching a brow at the narrowest hint of scheming in her expression. “How set are you in your evening plans?”  

He lowered his chin. “ _Why?_ ”

She blinked off to the side in thought. “I might have an idea.”

Loki stared for a moment, and smirked. “Well, that’s never good.”

A single chuckle beat through her chest. “Who do you think you take after?” she muttered mischievously, and stood. “ _Come._ ”

“What?” he asked, looking up at her from the couch. “Come where?”

Frigga strode confidently across the room, retrieving a small dagger from behind her nightstand. It disappeared in a flash of seidr as she whirled in his direction, throwing a hand up—with another flash of green, their appearances were no longer their own. As Loki trailed down the length of his arms, he grimaced abhorrently at the worn garbs that now clothed him—a slave’s garbs.

“Is this a joke?” he asked, rising slowly from the couch.

“No joke at all,” Frigga said, trailing toward the door, pausing to look back at him. She shrugged. “Well you’re welcome to stay, if you’ve somewhere better to be.”

Loki scoffed amusedly, waiting only a moment for the idea to sink in, before following his mother’s footsteps.

 

 

***

 

 

The catacombs were dark. Vast, hollow spaces—and eerily dark to top it off. Both Loki and Frigga required some semblance of seidr to see in between the torchlights, and even then, they could not fully perceive all the edges and details of the tunnel walls expanding around them. Soon, they reached the living quarters themselves, where there was a bit more light, and rooms branched all around them.

Beds and supply crates were stacked on one another, atop dirt flooring. There were a number of people sleeping already, and no guards. Others were gathered around the occasional fire pits, casting yellowish glows on the cavelike walls of the catacombs. During their trek, Loki and Frigga paused only once at the sound of a sudden fight breaking off in one of the vast halls. They glanced through the archway to see a group of men casting their tired gazes downward beside them—and there, there was a pair of fighting, bellowing comrades throwing fists among themselves. Something about several stolen loafs of bread…and a stolen woman.

Everything was positively filthy, including their language. The thought of a creature as sweet as Aila returning here each night was nauseating. Particularly as his eyes scanned over the dusty, rotting wooden beds—any one of these could have been hers. How did she manage to look so clean and rosy each day?

There were the occasional belongings strewn about the place as well, though they looked as though they could have been fished from the garbage bins. Broken instruments, small shelves, derelict perfumes bottles—what use could those possibly have—and disgustingly worn garments. It was in that moment that Loki realized how Aila kept all of this hidden in her appearance—the palace clothes were the only bits of clothing draped neatly over bedsides. The slaves themselves were wearing abhorrent apparel that he had never seen before.

Though her face was masked with seidr, Loki could recognize his mother’s thoughts plainly—utter horror at the reality existing beneath their golden palace. He hadn’t noticed when she altered their clothes accordingly, but it was clear that she’d been making the same observations as well. Her arm snaked around his, in a gesture of protection—perhaps giving, perhaps seeking—rightly enough, he’d eviscerate any slave that dared raise a hand against his mother.

And…perhaps Aila as well, if she needed his help.

Frigga stopped at some imperceptible sound, echoing from somewhere far away. “Do you hear that?” she leaned over, whispering to him.

“It’s coming from there.” He nodded down one of the branching halls. A subsequent cheer was indicative of a celebration, and they stalked toward it quietly.

The sounds had grown, with a series of poorly coordinated instruments. After some time, an entire scene opened up before them—namely a large hall, with crates stacked on one another along its edges, upon which slaves were sitting. Others danced, alone and in pairs, on the floor and around the room. Boisterously, at that—Loki had never seen such open merriment in his life, such freedom in their movements and spirit. Meanwhile, the glow of a central pit cast dancing shadows against the domed walls.

“ _There she is,_ ” Frigga whispered, pointing subtly across the pit.

Loki followed her direction, seeing Aila’s face amidst the sparse crowd. The girl beside her must have been the bride, judging by the tiny, picked flowers adorning her hair, and temporary modifications to her palace wardrobe. Grinning as she danced, Aila held the bride’s hand on one side, and someone else’s on the other.

Loki barely recognized the young man to her left—tall and handsome, with short, brown locks that curled atop his head. He was the one who carried her mother from the palace banquet, the night of her death. A true friend to Aila, it seemed—though a mere friend would hardly tug her in his direction, and run his hands around her waist, the way he just did. 

She herself was wearing some dull, unfamiliar shawl that the man gripped tightly, and Loki watched as she spun into it, coiling it around her—right up against his chest. She donned a positively feline grin as he gave the shawl a tug, and she spun away from him again, in beat with the music. Her expression tread dangerously close to being affectionate…

The inexplicable bitterness grew, as he watched the man suddenly hoist Aila over his shoulder—spinning her amusedly—though it loosened slightly at his surprise at the musical laughter that poured from her. The way that the corners of her eyes turned upward mirthfully, looking about the room freely, instead of at the ground. A smile stretched across her regal features,somehow lighting up the space on its own.

He’d never heard her laugh like that, or seen her wear such a pleasant expression. She was an entirely different person from the one he knew.

The music was pitiful at best, against the pleasant sound of Aila’s laughter. He’d almost wished to hear it again when it stopped, though a lapse in the musical festivity had slowly begun shifting into the scene. Aila remained beside the bride after the man had set her down, while the bride rejoined her groom atop one of the crates. She sat on the ground just a few paces away, seemingly elevating the bride’s status beside her, and the young man sat between them on the ground, unexpectedly close. Aila barely shifted to make some room, but that was her only sign of recoiling from him. 

“This is certainly not what I expected,” Frigga muttered quietly, and Loki looked down at her. 

“Which part?” he whispered. 

“ _All of it.”_  

Her expression was grave when she glanced up at him, before turning back to the scene. Some semblance of wedding speeches had seemingly begun, and the two of them listened as individuals took turns speaking—offering warm wishes, and jests that would have been too crude for the palace. 

Aila rose suddenly, and Loki’s attention snapped to her immediately. The young man rose a bit as well, but leaned back against one of the crates—not unlike others nearby. Aila wore her lesser garments this night, but the frame of her beauty remained: the thoughtfulness in her gaze, the practitioner’s confidence seeping in her demeanor.

Though…there was a lightness in her expression that Loki had yet to see before this night, a youthful mirth that she’d clearly kept hidden all this time. 

Something coiled tightly in Loki’s stomach, turning over at the sight of her companion’s ‘appreciative’ leer. 

Aila turned and retrieved a small, wooden cup from one of the crates. She first murmured something to the bride, and then cast a warm grin toward the rest of the room—clearing her throat to project more loudly. 

“Our lives are hard, it’s true,” she said—continuing off from where the last speech-giver had stopped. “They always will be, this much we have accepted.”

In the corner of his eye, Loki saw Frigga tilt her head.

“But we don’t have to accept living out our existence alone—and when we find a person to share it with,” she continued, looking back at the bride and groom, lifting her cup to them a bit. “He is worth more than the greatest king.”

A wave of sentimental croons broke out, while Loki eyed her curiously—delving into the depths of his own mind, to understand the world as Aila saw it. Despite her life’s hardships, it must have been an interesting place, for time and age within it to foster such value and love for those around her—namely the would-be man on her arm.

And speaking of… Loki watched her companion shift his gaze to her slowly—appreciatively, as though her words were meant for him. And he observed her with such care in his eyes, such warmth in the smile that stretched across his lips, that Loki glared in wonderment.

Never had he looked upon a woman with such affection.

And never had he thought it to be such an _abhorrent_ sight.

Frigga glanced over at her son, and then looked back twice—a grave and worried expression growing in her features.

“Dina,” Aila continued, looking between the bride and the groom. “And Eros—I truly wish you all the happiness, that I could ever want for _myself—_ I wish it for you. Congratulations.” She finished with a smile, and a round of applause began. 

The next person stood, but Frigga moved to inch away from the scene. “We should go, Loki…”

The Prince remained unmoving, staring intently at his slave woman. At the way that her companion slid down to the ground beside her, and embraced her protectively with his long limbs. His eyes were fixed on Aila’s features—at the distance in her grin when she looked upon him, and the subtlest hints of movement rippling through her form as she made room between them. Why not move away entirely? Why not recoil from his affections, if they were unwelcome? _Were_ they, or _weren’t_ they?

Frigga tugged on his arm. “ _Loki,_ ” she whispered a bit more sharply. “ _You will see her tomorrow—let’s go.”_

He shook his head a bit, as though coming out of a stupor. Yes, tomorrow she would be by his side all day, at the luncheon—yet another boring palace event. No festivities or boisterous laughter. No speeches and warm smiles. He would have to look elsewhere for all that—if he wanted it at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FRIGGA IS MY FAV. I'd eviscerate someone for her too. Don't fux with her. Loki's also totally the type of son I'd want to have, who actually talks to me and has a relationship with me, etc. because so many of my guy friends don't have one with their mothers. I already know that my future child will be hell spawn (because I was a hell spawn toddler), but hopefully they'll be as close to me as I am to my mother now, as an adult.
> 
> I also want to thank those of you who've gone to look at my other work - you actually prompted me to take a night to go through and polish GATS lol. Which I've been meaning to do, Siren's Mark got a lot more attention than it did (because of the time, reader attention and progression of skillz between writing the two), and this was kind of the kick in the ass I needed to go back and make GATS more tolerable. So thank you for that too, and thanks in general for all your support!! Til next time!


	6. How Vexxing

The luncheon was held outside, on a beautiful, breezy day, in one of Asgard’s many beautiful courtyards. This particular one was just on the water, with all the buildings towering high around them, while the coolness of the water sent a beautiful breeze over the canopies and tablecloths. 

Loki was seated at a rather large, circular table with Thor and the Warriors Three, as well as Lady Sif. They sat to his left, while on the right were a number of Asgard’s noblemen. Aila stoodsome ways away from the table, averting her eyes from a number of the other servants that had been working the event. Aila, of course, was only obligated to Loki’s service—though her help was hardly needed. Evidently there’d been a slight change in leadership, and a new servant was now in charge, aptly filing the servants into order.

While Loki was a gifted conversationalist, he spared the occasional glance toward his slave woman—thinking back to the night before. Her roaming gaze, her thoughtful words…and when she approached their table to serve them more wine, he hardly believed that anyone seated around him took no notice of her. Bits of soft hair strewn about her shoulders loosely, the angular run of her jaw and regal features—she was a loose handed, elegant drawing come to life. What did _she_ think of all these people? Of this event? Of the palace? Surely she had more than a few insightful thoughts buzzing around in that head of hers. 

“What do you think, brother?” Thor’s voice suddenly resonated, and Loki blinked down at him as Aila traipsed around the table. 

“What do I think about what?”

He gave Loki a confused look, as though he’d clearly expected him to pay attention to such a conversation. “Emissaries from Niflheim, visiting in six months’ time.”

“Ah yes, the ‘land of darkness and mist…’” Loki mused, forking a vegetable as Aila’s slender arm appeared within sight—pouring wine for someone across the table. “Well, it’ll certainly make for an interesting occasion.” 

Silence passed around the table. “Is that all you have to say of it?” Thor asked dubiously.

“I will have more to say when we meet them for the first time.”

A guest chuckled beside him—Althar, a distant acquaintance from one of Asgard’s richest families. “Ever the curious one, Loki—since you were a child. Very strange,”

Loki clenched his jaw, loathing when Althar spoke of him in such a fashion. The nobleman was close to Loki’s age, yet he spoke as though he were much older—frequently allowed to do so, given his family’s high rank in Asgard. And when Loki glanced to his side, he looked twice at the man’s leer at Aila across the table.

“And you’ve an interesting taste in staff, it appears,” the nobleman raked his gaze over her form. Aila’s hair hung down over her shoulders as she poured the Lady Sif’s wine, and she stiffened at realizing that she had been mentioned.

“True enough,” Thor agreed, though his voice was void of the same unpleasant tone—curiosity, if nothing else. “Girl, what is your name?” 

Loki looked between Thor and Aila, watching as she straightened up—holding the decanter close to her abdomen—keeping her thoughtful eyes fixed in the center of the table. “Aila, my Prince.”

“Aila,” Thor repeated. “And where are you from, Aila?”

She pressed her lips together reluctantly. “I was born here, my Lord,” she answered softly—neutrally. 

“Oh.” He nodded, understanding the implications of her birth into servitude. “And what of your parents?”

Loki’s eyes flickered down to her hans, gripping the decanter nervously—not matching the controlled expression on her face. How could no one else notice the remarkable composure she held?

“My mother was from Vanaheim,” she said.

All eyes turned to her suddenly, and it was Fandral who spoke next—having charged at the head of the siege that first brought the slaves to Asgard. “Vanaheim was not at war with Asgard, how did she end up a slave?”

“S—She allied herself with someone from another realm.”

“Which realm?” Thor asked.

“Look at us, child,” Sif chimed in softly, looking upon Aila with a kindly expression.

Beads of sweat began forming at the top of Aila’s forehead—this was clearly a difficult subject, and Loki prepared to intervene. The tactlessness of his peers sometimes astounded him. The girl was clearly uncomfortable…for reasons he would extract at a later time.

Aila looked up at her immediately, drawing a raised brow from the lady warrior. “I don’t know. My mother never spoke much of my father,” Aila answered kindly, turning her attention to Thor. “Aside from telling me that she ran from an abusive man, who brought her within inches of her life. She fled before she had me, to save me from the same fate. That’s all I ever learned of my family.”

The table grew eerily quiet, and tension flickered in Loki’s brow as he looked upon her—learning so much in just a few short sentences. More than he had in the weeks he’d already been employing her. Aila sighed slightly as she glanced over at him, and he was actually pleased that she had looked at him without instruction to do so.

“I’m sorry,” Thor answered her. “That’s a…very unfortunate story.”

“Maybe.” She nodded, looking back at him with a kindly tone. “But I turned out alright, I think…”

Thor’s eyes softened a bit as he looked at her curiously, and Loki watched as they briefly flickered over her form, before falling back to his plate.

Tension rippled through Loki’s jaw, and he suddenly regretted thinking it was a shame that no one else at the table had noticed her. “Aila,” he called to her, reaching for his cup. “My glass is empty.”

Without another word, she dropped her eyes to the ground and trailed over to him. The rest of the table resumed its idle conversation, while Althar leered at her backside as she stepped between him and Loki. The Prince’s gaze narrowed as he watched through the corner of his eyes, noting how the man’s gaze ran along her curvatures. 

“Turned out alright, did you?” He murmured quietly as he looked up at her, and raised a hand to her waist. “In more ways than one, I imagine—”

Loki’s hand shot out from behind her and gripped Althar’s wrist. Aila flinched at the movement, inching toward her master a bit when she realized what happened—he was the only protective figure nearby. “Now, now,” Loki mused. “Don’t touch what isn’t yours, my friend.” 

The nobleman grinned incredulously, and chuckled. “Is that to say that this piss poor creature is _yours, Loki_?”

Across the way, Thor noticed the scene, and frowned.

“I have employed her, so yes,” Loki answered tersely. 

“Fine, _fine…”_ Althar pulled away, and raised both hands in surrender, while his other friend—another noble whose name Loki could not remember—smirked beside him at the display. With a telling glance in his direction, Althar chuckled lowly as Aila stepped back. “ _I won’t touch her.”_

What came next, Loki should have seen coming. He should have seen it in the wryness dripping in the man’s tone, the amusement in his eyes—the need to establish his importance over that of a _piss poor creature_. With flick of Althar’s wrist, next came the flight of the oiliest soup on the table. It smacked straight into Aila at the drop of a hat, soaking through her hair and clothes. A number of gasps broke out, and even some faint chuckles after a moment, from other tables.

Loki rose sharply from his seat, glaring as Althar looked to his entourage amusedly.

“ _Loki,_ ” Thor warned.

“It’s time you left, Althar,” he mused with a sly, yet intent expression.

The nobleman creased a brow, feigning disbelief at Loki’s unamused expression. “Now why would I do that, friend?”

“A Prince of Asgard has ordered you to leave.” He paused, giving Thor a sidelong glance—seeing the tacit agreement in his eyes. “And if you don’t, I will personally see to it that Odin learns how gravely you’ve offended his sons.”

In the corner of his eye, Loki saw Thor cross his arms in agreement.

“Offended you?” Althar smirked, casting a look toward Aila that aptly combined leering with disgust. “Over a pretty little slave bitch? Come now, you must cultivate your sense of humor.”

Not wishing Aila to hear more of his insults, Loki schooled his irate features with a stark neutrality, and turned sharply toward her. In two long strides, he was at her side. “Go to the showers, wash yourself. Return when you’ve finished.”

The look of surprise coated her expression, tugging at the wetness that formed in her eyes. “I…can’t,” she ground out. “I’ve already had mine for the day, it costs money and I can’t afford another one—”

“I will pay for it,” he murmured softly, and Aila’s eyes fluttered surprisedly— rising to meet his, before she caught herself. “Use my name to get whatever you need. Go.”

Her lips thinned into a straight line, and she nodded briskly before walking away—looking a bit dazed as she covered her mouth with her wrist. Loki slid his gaze back to Althar, who’d risen from the table with hands up on either side of him.

“Very well,” he said with a grin. “I’ll leave, if it’ll spare your _wrath.”_

Loki frowned, confused at his sudden admission. A moment ago, he refused to leave. Though as he watched Althar’s eyes flicker in Aila’s direction and back, an uncomfortable instinct roiled in his gut at the leer persisting in his expression, even as he turned and strode away from the table—away from the event.

 

 

***

 

 

I was humiliated. The creamy soup had stained my clothes permanently, and I doubted it would wash out. With the option to choose the scented materials—for once—I still opted for one that was only mildly sweet…however strange it was to even consider the option, at first. It was a kindness I would never forget.

It took a moment to allow myself to revel in the sweet smelling materials washing over me. A luxury in and of itself, and I noted that I would have to find a way to thank the Prince for this later. Perhaps I could owe him the money he’d spend on my behalf.

Footsteps appeared in the shower house.

I furrowed a brow—another servant, maybe? It was the middle of the day, so there were no other servants in there at the time. I turned slowly in their direction, hearing nothing again. They started again and stopped, as though they were leisurely sauntering back and forth, hiding when my awareness of them became apparent. A sliver of fear crept in, and I exchanged the hot water for a towel, making to leave the place immediately.

A hand grabbed me from behind, pulling me back sharply. My eyes snapped up, widening in horror as I stood inches away from the nobleman that had been sitting at Loki’s table. The reason I had a need to come here at all. He was here, in the shower house.

“W—What are you doing here!? _Men aren’t allowed in these showers!_ ” I snapped quickly, not knowing what else to say—even though I knew that that meant little to him. Panic surged in my chest as I looked down at his hand, still gripping my arm.

“Shut up,” he sneered with an eery grin, and I cried out as he pulled me closer to him, and began pushing me backward toward one of the walls.

I fought him fervently, but my strength was no match for his. I thrashed as he shoved me back, panic and anger overtaking me completely until I burst. The impulse to strike him flashed quicker than I had thought about it, and seidr concentrated in my hand just barely enough to knock him back. I didn't know whether it was strong enough for him to realize what it was, but it was just hard enough to send him to the ground.

The towel had been coming loose, and I wrapped it tightly around myself as I darted for the exit. Panic was gripping me fully now, and I felt my body plunging into the hot state of stress that I'd been fighting to resist. Mother's death, my new employment, everything—I'd reserved crying for private moments throughout the day, and continued going about my work, for the sake of my survival. Mother would have wanted me to do so.

But now, I just couldn’t…tears were rising to my eyes quite rapidly, matching the percussive pounding of my heart against my ribcage. Creating a symphony of panicked thudding in my ears, loud enough to prevent my hearing the brisk footfall approaching from the outside.

 

***

 

It didn’t sit well with Loki. He tried, he really did, to forget what he’d seen—the scheming look in Althar’s eyes. He knew it well, having donned it many times himself. The intentness, the _desire_ for something _._ For power, for amusement—it didn’t matter. It was a dangerous look, and it didn’t sit well with him.

Ignoring Thor as he called his name in protest, Loki stood and left the luncheon—his legs carrying him in the direction of the shower house. There had to have been a reason this all bothered him so much, but it was hardly worth ruminating on—his gut told him to be sure. He couldn’t stomach the idea of that dullard enacting the most repugnant of schemes.

He marched down the long, outdoor hallway, pausing only when he heard a slight thump, and the patter of feet. When he neared the door, Aila’s form burst out from the archway leading inside—colliding straight into him, enough to make him flinch. Her glossy eyes shot up to him in fear and shock as she stumbled slightly from the collision. His hands shot up to steady her, and one of hers clutched his arm instinctively, the other holding her towel.

Even he stumbled back a bit, and caught the choked gasp in the back of his throat—which instead escaped in a sharp exhale as he gaped.

“ _Loki—_ ” she gasped without thinking, her voice wrought with shock and fear.

  
His name on her lips focused him suddenly, even as Aila turned sharply and looked back toward the doorway. Her wet hair whipped around her with the movement, sending several cold droplets onto Loki’s face, but he didn’t move. He didn’t look away.

Yes, he saw the terror that gripped her features, had registered the glimmer of fear in her voice… And yet, even more than that, he registered nothing past the slickness of her shoulders. The heat pluming off her from the shower. And when something tugged at his line of sight, he followed it absently—scraping down the length of her body, down to her bare legs.

His eyes darted back up as she turned to him, fisting the edges of the towel together tightly.

His gaze flickered toward the movement and back, and he swallowed thickly. The towel was not tucked into itself—she was holding it with one hand. 

Loki released her wet shoulders immediately, and turned to face the other direction with a look of pointed restraint.

“What happened?” he choked out, struggling to subdue the tightness in his throat. Though it loosened on its own at the sound of the quiet sob that followed.

“That man at your table is…” she whimpered. “H-He came into the shower, a-and—”

He didn’t wait to hear the rest. Loki turned and stalked around her, stepping into to the humid air of the shower house. Althar was indeed inside, slowly rising from what appeared to be a strike severe enough to knock him to the ground.

He hissed, “That little _bitch_ of yours practices magic—”

Loki’s hand flew to the man’s neck, coated in a thick layer of seidr. “You will forget the words you just said to me,” he muttered lowly, allowing his magic to seep into the man’s skull. “ _Swine._ And you will avoid looking upon my woman’s face ever again,” his fingers squeezed. “Lest you forget how close you are to death in this moment.”

A nobleman’s murder would wreck havoc upon the palace right now, in the midst of all their festivities. Others were to be visiting Asgard constantly these coming weeks, and the murder of one of their own by a crown prince would surely be chaotic news that would ripple into all their affairs.

“Take the back door,” Loki growled as he released him slowly, listening to the man scramble away. 

He intended to follow after him, and turn to head back outside. Loki willed his legs to move, but a sinking thought anchored him for a time, keeping him rooted in place, staring into one of the stalls—perhaps the very same that Aila had used.

Confusion slowly—very slowly—streaked across his features.

 _My woman—my ‘serving’ woman._ The thought crept across his mind.

He let out a heavy breath, and his eyes trailed over to the door, as his legs carried him toward it slowly. Aila was gone by the time he reached the threshold.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was in a very 'looool' mood about this chapter. And I'm all about that subconscious attraction stuff. I thought about what Loki would say to Aila if I had her stick around for whatever he was going to do to Althar, but decided against it. I don't think I'd stick around for it either, and she thinks she'll deal with the seidr situation later. I'm also glad everyone liked the Frigga chapter! There will be another one coming soon, and it'll be entitled "Mother Mischief," based on a cute response I got from one of you readers! :)
> 
> And speaking of reader responses--one of you asked, but I wanted to address this to everyone too. I try my best to acknowledge all the comments I get, but if I ever don't respond, please just know that it's for one of two reasons: your comment is either alluding to a spoiler that I can't respond to without giving the story away, or I'm literally lapsed in a mini exhaustion coma because I'm living on a crazy schedule right now. It's one of those two, always - never because I don't care. Or because your feedback doesn't make my day.
> 
> So yeah, that's all for now. :) Hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and are fangirling as hard as I did when I wrote it! Please, please continue to leave me your feedback, it’s encouraging and lovely to read!


	7. Can't Always Get What We Want

I was shaken, to say the least. Less so because of what happened—a situation I’d encountered numerous times throughout my life as a slave, though it never went that far—and more because of my magic. 

The Prince said nothing of my seidr in the days that passed. Granted, I hadn’t used much of it in the shower house to defend myself, but I had spent the rest of that day wrestling with my own anxiety. Had that other man felt it? Was I exposed?

Prince Loki said nothing of it that following evening, nor in the days that followed. Time assuaged the panic… and in fact, the night of the incident, he seemed a bit perturbed himself—as though _he_ had something to worry about. His lips were pressed in a thin line for the entirety of our conversation, and he listened tautly as I explained everything that happened. Tension rippled in his jaw, and fire blazed in his gaze. When I was finished, he cast a solemn glance into the kindled evening fire, and excused me for the night without another word.

In the weeks that followed, my employment with the lesser prince spurred even _more_ trouble—though of a more sensitive nature.

Astrid continued to endeavor to make my life as difficult as possible, and had done so since her promotion to Head Maid. While Asgard was to enjoy a series of celebrations in the months to come—marking the end of warfare between realms—my life grew more and more turbulent under her reign. My rations were significantly reduced, and I was set to do the most laborious work. Work that was often reserved for the men, due to their comparably larger stature.

The night of the incident, I hadn’t encountered her for the rest of the day—she was busy with the luncheon—and I was on my way out of the kitchens when she happened upon me for the first time.

“And where are you going?” she had muttered lowly as I sauntered by her—plastering my eyes down to the cold, stone floor. For a moment, only the torches provided any sound between us.

“To Loki’s chambers, my lady.” I curtsied to her, keeping my eyes down. I hated when she cornered me like this. My burst of seidr earlier that day had been a fluke—a random event—and I was lucky to have kept it concealed. I’d never been able to summon it in such a violent manner before, and I was left at her mercy at all other times.

She pivoted slowly, her dress swaying around her feet as she sauntered toward me. Her steps echoed through the tall hallway outside the kitchen, where we were alone. “To… _whose_ chambers?”

A hard smack at my cheek sent me flying to the ground. After that, she turned back to the kitchen, and when the door flew open, I looked back to see several others—slaves and servants alike—looking out at the sight of me sprawled over the floor. My elbow had hurt from the impact, and it was already late by the time I’d gathered myself and returned to the Prince’s chambers—shaken once more.

I could have reported her to him—and risked facing more punishment for the complaint. I’d considered it in the days that followed, rationalized that it was worth the risk. Though it would have been an invasion into his past affairs, and I could not gauge how that would fare. All I needed was to give Astrid a reason, and I would wake with beating hooks embedded in my back—and there was no clear indication that the Prince would really _do_ something about it. Ensure my safety.

True, he’d joked about punishing her once in the library. And true, he had helped me that day in the shower house—cared enough to check on me. But that was the act of any decent person that had foreseen what was to come, it couldn’t have been an indication of genuine care…even if he _did_ choke up a bit at the sight of my near-bareness outside the shower house.

Though…he was a man, after all. Of course it would entice him.

So I waited, and endured. Lost weight, due to my smaller rationing. And when the day of the haelstrom arrived, I was given more to do than any of the other servants. I was to report to the kitchens—to Astrid—early in the morning, for my assignments.

Clouds hovered over Asgard as though it were any other storm, dark and heavy. I peered up at them worriedly through the Prince’s window.

“When will you return?” his voice came from the couches, and I trailed my eyes back down to his emerald gaze—looking him freely in the eye.

“Eleven thirty,” I said. “The lock down will take place at noon, when the storm begins.”

“Seems a bit late.”

I smirked. “Does it?”

He looked up at me. “Something funny?”

“No,” I shook my head slowly. “Not at all. You’ve nothing to worry about, you’ll be quite safe up here.”

“As will you,” he said matter-of-factly. “You’re to weather the storm here when you finish your errands.”

My brows shot up. “You want me to come back here?” _Instead of the catacombs?_

“I believe that _is_ what I said.”

I stared for a moment, a glimmer of warm tension tugging at my chest.“Very well,” I agreed, offering a sweet grin as I sauntered toward the couches—in the direction of the door. His eyes shot up as I neared him, flickering down to my smile, and I noticed that they lingered there a bit. “I will hurry back, then,” I said, feeling a hint of color licking across my cheeks.

“Be sure that you do,” the Prince murmured, lifting a letter from a pile on the couch, and opening it. “You will be here no later than eleven thirty-five.”

I stopped. “Eleven thirty-five?”

“Yes. Is there a problem with that?”

Well, no. Only that the immediacy of his demand was endearing, and threatened a broader smile. I’d been assigned to travel out to the docks, to fetch one of our cooks who’d been working there for a time. He and I were to return together, and it would be a long walk across Asgard. The haelstrom was forecasted to begin at noon, and last no more than an hour. Everyone was to be inside by then, and the doors would be locked at noon exactly. The storm would slowly rise to its peak and then dissipate over the next hour—and the palace was set to continue its usual work in the meantime. Behind closed, sealed doors, of course. I wasn’t entirely sure why it was so necessary to have this particular cook back in the kitchens during that time, but it wasn’t my place to question it.

In tandem with my other responsibilities, I’d anticipated getting back to the castle in time. Arriving at the Prince’s chamber would be a simple walk from the gates. So, no—it wouldn’t be a problem.

“No,” I shook my head, and the grin stretched further across my face. “I’ll be here.”

The Prince paused for a moment. “ _Good._ ”

I quickly curtsied in response, though he must have only seen it in his peripheral, and I left. Closing the door behind me gently.

 

***

 

Loki had shared his meals with Aila on a number of occasions, but she’d grown thin again. He could see it—the gauntness of her cheeks. The growing frailness of her hair. Had they not been feeding her enough? Perhaps, if it came to it, he would have a word with the Head Maid—or whoever was in charge. Dead slaves were useless slaves, at most.

And at the very least, they were…concerning.

If this newer management was truly consistent, then Aila wouldn’t last very long. The frustration that rose at the thought thought was a nuisance, and he planned to have a talk with her as soon as she returned. Perhaps as they weathered the storm together, with Aila sitting across from him in the small living area of his room. Surely, they were familiar enough for that. For her to confide in him, if there were any misgivings in the change of management.

In the hours that followed Aila’s departure that morning, Loki passed the time opening, reading, and responding to letters from noblemen in the city—magicians from foreign realms, even. Such correspondences were always passed his way, and it was either him, or his mother. One of them was to be held responsible for magical affairs—and today, his mother was busy.  
  
So, he waited.

And waited.

And then waited some more…having moved to his desk, to write out his responses.

One glance at the clouds brooding outside his window, and a sliver of concern blossomed a bit. He turned in his chair slowly, checking the time hanging across the room, and creased his brow angrily when he saw that it was eleven forty.

Aila should have been back by now.

She hadn’t mentioned where she was going, but perhaps she was delayed—though Aila was always prompt, always planned for his requests. They were a priority.

 _So where the hell was she?_ Perhaps the kitchen?

Loki stopped, staring at the doorknob for a beat—wondering if he was truly prepared to saunter on down there to find her. To sate his frustration with her untimely tardiness, in a show of intimidation. Perhaps with his hands clasped behind him, and steely gaze searching her out, she would be reminded of her obligation… And he would be sated.

It would be a lesson for everyone—this slave was not to be trifled with, much less delayed.

Who or what delayed her, if that was the case? The new Head Maid? She was never late before, so it might have been serious. Serious enough to disrupt the strict schedule that Asgard ran on during this time—which Aila was a part of. Surely she would have let her superiors know of his demanded change, and would have accounted for it.

That was enough—enough to prompt his curiosity, at the very least. To tear his attention away from the pile of unanswered letters.

A cold wind had swept through the hallways, prickling his skin as he walked. The entire kitchen staff froze when he strode through the door, pointedly glowering at every face in the room. The entire place had been swept clean—as though no one anticipated getting a minute’s worst of work done today.

“Where is the Head Maid?” he demanded. 

No one spoke for a beat. The slaves kept their eyes on the ground, while the servants looked between themselves. Finally, the cook rose a hand in the opposite direction, having paused from directing crates across the room.

“There, your majesty…” he said earnestly. “The last door on the left.”

Loki walked briskly in the direction he’d indicated, following a small hallway that led to a series of rooms. The last one on the left, as the cook had indicated, was open. He strode in unceremoniously, and came to an abrupt stop when he saw the Head Maid at her desk—jaw dropping slightly in surprise.

“P-Prince Loki,” she gasped, light blossoming in her eyes as she rose from the chair. “Y-You’re here.”

He stood awkwardly for a moment, but his sharp mind sprung into action—immediately suspecting that he was facing the cause of Aila’s gauntness and exhausted appearance.

This maid had been his bed partner for a night—hardly a good one, at that—he didn’t even remember her name. She’d taken a liking to him, that much was obvious, but he’d never asked for it—he had no need of her name. Meanwhile, Aila’s sweet face flashed before his eyes, which narrowed with the sinking realization that this woman had been promoted to a position of authority over his slave. The first slave to ever serve the royal family—chosen by Loki himself.

“I’m looking for my…slave,” he said tersely. Calmly. “Aila. She hasn’t returned to me yet.”

He wondered if that last bit was necessary to divulge—if it was necessary to indicate that he…he….

 _Cared._

The woman pressed her mouth into a thin line, seemingly at the sound of Aila’s name on his lips. Her throat bobbed, but not from disdain—a hint of panic, if nothing else. If the brimming fear in the corners of her eyes had anything to say about it.

“She’s not here,” the woman ground out.

“Where is she?” 

“I-I sent her out to the docks.”

“I’m aware of how far you sent her.” Loki’s voice dropped. “Has she reported back to you yet?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Perhaps she found shelter out there.”

Unlikely.

The chance of finding shelter given her station was low. Very low. No one would tarnish their homes with the presence of a war slave—especially not at the dock, nor along the road back to the city. That was where the nobility lived. And the peripheral villages were too far to reach in the meantime.

Loki crossed his arms suspiciously. “What time will the docks be closing for the storm?”

“I’m not sure,” she answered nervously. “We haven’t conferred with them—but I imagine it’d be the same time as the palace, my Prince.”

Hadn’t conferred with the people she’d sent her employees to? What if they were closed already?

“At noon, then?”  

“ _E_ - _Eleven-thirty…_ ” The woman blanched as she muttered quietly, casting her eyes away.

Loki stood frozen, rooted in place…tilting his head to the side as he calculated her words, lips parting slowly with realization. It was twenty-five minutes to noon, and the gates were to lock at eleven-thirty—so the gates had locked five minutes ago?

_And…Aila didn’t know?_

_“_ When will the haelstrom begin?” he muttered lowly.

“ _At noon, my Prince…_ ” Her eyes flickered up to his briefly.

Loki clenched his jaw, brow furrowing furiously as the realization struck him—that this woman sent Aila out into the death void. She would trek back across the city, thinking that the gates would still be open to her arrival. Aila would leave the docks in a timely fashion, to arrive back at the palace, and would be caught outside instead—where none would open their doors to her.

_She’d be outside._

A wave of panic flushed through him, and Loki turned sharply toward the door.

“L-Loki!” the maid called out to him, her voice lilting as though she knew him.

Loki recoiled at the thought of bedding that woman. While he’d enjoyed—marginally—the sound of his name on her lips that night, it was abhorrent now.

He ignored it—regretting even _more_ that he hadn’t met with his father and brother earlier that day, to gain this information himself. He’d stayed in his room, with Aila nearby, enjoying the ambient, grey light cast in from the outside world. There had been no need for him to go anywhere, to know anything, for he was safe—the same should have applied to Aila. He was a _fool_ not to be sure. If anything, this was _his_ fault, and he would pay the price—he would find her. He would indulge the panicked dread washing over him. _He would find her before the storm did…_

Even if none of it made sense. None at all, as he barreled down the hallway, away from Astrid’s office. He would deal with that vile _quim_ later—this was a transgression he would not forget. If Aila died, Astrid would be next.

Loki hadn’t realized that he was running—not even as he knocked servants out of the way in the kitchen, darting toward the open door. The one that would soon close, and lock everyone inside, and away from the harshness of the outdoor hallways.

Servants and slaves gasped and flurried in a rush out of his path, and Loki turned sharply at the door—gripping its frame as he flung himself around the corner. There was an archway leading to the outside, towering as tall as the hallway itself. Loki ran toward it as quickly as his legs could carry him, his mind counting every second that he spent on the ground—until he wasn’t.

Several feathers had come loose in the sudden transformation. With the swiftest speed, Loki blew past the archway, wings beating wildly as he took to the skies.

 

 

***

 

 

The cook wasn’t at the docks…

In fact, there was _no one_ in the streets as I walked back. The docks were closed, and I was alone.

I’d been thinking about it the entire way back—using it as somewhat of a distraction from the eery emptiness of the town. I sauntered beside the Bifrost for a time, feeling the occasional cool wind billowing my clothes about. I’d been expecting other slaves—other servants—to still be out here at this time. There had been a few on my way over.

Or citizens, at the very least… Though I could’ve sworn I’d heard others being assigned to various tasks, I suppose I might’ve misheard. Those might’ve been kept within the palace.

I’d spent a bit more time than I’d intended looking for the cook, and knew I would be late. It was past eleven thirty, but I still had enough time to reach the gate.

The Prince would still be unhappy with me…I was never late.

I hated the idea of disappointing him. Though the thought of his insistence that I stay in his chambers was truly endearing, and it brought a bit of a smile to my face, amidst the solemness of my surroundings. Whether he said it aloud or not, there was no other explanation given or taken for his demand—he wished to have me near, to know that I was safe. And though I absolutely wasn’t allowed to harbor such thoughts about a prince of Asgard, I thought he was…sweet.

And perhaps there was no other explanation for his appearance at the shower house. No other explanation than the fact that he cared a bit _._ And perhaps this meant that I could confide in him about Astrid.

The mention of her name in my thoughts dampened my smile, and I sighed heavily, casting my eyes up to the castle. It truly was a beautiful structure—gleaming so elegantly, and towering so high. It made me feel small, and I’d been told that it was built to withstand such an event. Only the weakest, oldest parts of the castle would be scuffled by it—and in fact, it would actually _help_ to identify those places. All would be well, when it was over.

A faint whisper caught my attention, and held it longer than I anticipated—growing louder and louder as I neared the gates. I stepped onto the bifrost and turned, casting a glance up at the sky. At first, my gaze narrowed at the strange fluttering in the distance.

But, then… it widened at the fast-approaching sight of the dark, sparkling cloud wisping about amidst the clouds, stretching down to the bridge some ways away. 

It was… _early._

_Too early!?_

I turned and ran down the rainbow bridge, lungs burning all the way to the gates—which were closed. I stuttered to a stop, feeling my blood run cold at the sight of them. My instincts took over, and I barreled toward them anyway, pounding on them with a fury, calling out for whoever was inside. My fists began to ache after some time, and tears brimmed in my eyes as my head whipped back and forth—seeing the cloud drawing nearer and nearer.

The whistling sound had turned to a horrible rumble, with some indiscernible noise—like a cross between a roaring animal, and the edges of two pieces of metal scraping against one another—piercing the air.

The doors were still locked— _locked—_ but that hadn’t stopped me before. My blurry vision dropped down to my hands, and I momentarily considered using the seidr to escape, to open the doors like I’d done a million times.

  
Exposure wouldn’t have mattered anymore. I was dead either way.

Though the second I rose my hands, they dropped again—at the flashing image of the open doors, and all the _people_ in side. Guards. Perhaps the royal family—the Prince’s family, maybe even the Prince himself.

There was no way to tell. I couldn’t risk them dying, I just couldn’t.

My eyes darted from corner to corner, looking for safety somewhere else. The haelstrom was known to be thorough—no surface would go untouched—but I needed to find something to keep me safe. _Anything._  

I took off toward a small nook beneath the bridge, knowing it was hardly small and closed off enough to protect me, but it was better than nothing. Tears were streaming down my face, and my heart thudded wildly in my chest and ears—I could _feel_ the wind whipping around me. My death approaching. I would be gone from the world in a matter of minutes…For the storm was moments away.

With my feet thudding against the glass, I barely heard the sound of wings flapping just behind me.

A raven squawked, and I turned sharply at the sound. It flew straight toward me in a straight line, spreading its abnormally large wingspan out to tapered its dive. In a flash of green, it transformed, and _Loki_ landed on one knee mere feet away from me—eyes hardened with intentness, focus gripping his face.

 _“Loki!?_ ” I gasped—barely a whisper—in disbelief.

He reached out with one long arm and grabbed my wrist, tugging me toward him as he stood to his full height. Tall and lean and broad and strong, I collided with his chest as he released my hand, and threw his arms out on either side of him. Mine were thrown clumsily around him from the momentum, and my hands clung instantly to the fabric of his clothes—face landing safely in the crook of his neck, with strands of hair caught between myself and his damp neck.

He nearly stumbled back from the impact of my body. Instead, a deafening bubble suddenly ensconced us—a barrier, blocking the noise within seconds of the storm’s arrival. I pulled back a little to look at his intent, focused expression, mere inches from my face, and…

Loki’s face hardened suddenly, and I yelped as the storm collided with his barrier. Thousands upon _thousands_ of small metal-looking rocks ricocheted all around us, with unparalleled speed and _ferocity_ , shredding the plants nearby and cutting into the softer surfaces around us. Nothing was visible around us anymore—only the cloud, and the pale, green glow of Loki’s protective shield.

I could have only imagined how painful it would have been, as I threw myself into Loki the minute it hit us—practically hanging off the man in fear. With my forehead pressing against his neck, Loki’s heavy breath dampened my already glistening skin—heating the air between us.

I couldn’t believe that he was here, and I pulled back a bit to look at him.

Amidst the fear, I couldn’t believe that my arms were around him. That my fingers were digging into his leather. That I was close enough to see the stubble on his face, feel his breath fanning my…lips. My teary eyes dropped down to them— _literal inches from my face—_ and it was all too easy to take their details, and imagine how they’d feel against mine.

All his muscles were taut, and I couldn’t imagine how he was going to keep this up… A sudden jerk of movement, and I was back against him, gripping him tightly.

Why— _why did he do this!?_

Loki grunted, as though in pain, and pushed forward again—drawing me a few inches back, as though he were pushing back on a great weight that bore down on us both. His arms trembled, sending waves of shakiness through the rest of his body. One that forced his knees to bend, his shoulders to falter… I could feel his struggle, his _fear—_ and it broke my heart inexplicably.

The tears were rising for a whole different reason, now.

I didn’t want him to die out here. I didn’t want him to die with me. Whatever happened to someone as insignificant as me, I still didn’t want his smile to disappear from the world—or his sarcastic jokes, or his soothing voice. Even if he’d come out here to save me from the same fate, _I didn’t want Loki to die._

The decision was instantaneous. I tightened my arm around him once more, while my hand reached up and grappled the other side of his neck, just below his ear. My eyes shut tightly, and I squeezed him with all the focus and resolve that I had—letting my seidr spill into him from every point of contact. 

Which was now head to toe. I was molded against him so perfectly in the chaos—and he to me.

Loki let out a choked breath when he felt it—the unbridled warmth of my body seeping into his. I couldn’t see his face from where I was buried against his neck, but his breath quaked unsteadily for a moment.

I wanted him to take it—take as much as he needed, if it would save him. Save us both.

Loki was resolved to do just that, and the push of my seidr was suddenly met with a resounding pull. A need that drew from my body, pulling my energy from me almost… _pleasurably._ And while Loki’s stance grew a bit taller, a bit stronger, mine faltered with the exquisite pleasure that had inexplicably coursed through me. It was like a feather gliding over one’s skin, my seidr was offered and taken from me with an intimate _desire._

I shifted against his neck, drawing him closer and closer as I nuzzled into it, lips pressing against his skin.

In theory, I knew how long we stood there. The forecast had been an hour—but by the time it passed, it seemed to go by in a blink.

For me, anyway.

As the air around us cleared, Loki finally managed to reel in his arms, while I blinked myself out of the intimate stupor I’d entered—keeping my arms wrapped around him for a time. I was worn out, Loki even more so. He was swaying slightly as his hands came in for a gentle embrace, and I squirmed at the sensitive awareness of his fingers on my back.

His chest was heaving a bit with exhaustion, and in the moment I pulled away, Loki’s knees buckled underneath him. His lips brushed over mine briefly, unintentionally, as he slid to the ground. If this were any other time, any other place, I would have focused on the bit of dampness they left behind. But instead, I fell with him, holding him up to the best of my ability. 

He was heavy, and his face was pale—sweaty. Even as he brought a hand up to wipe it away, he donned an expression akin to sleep deprivation, and extreme exhaustion. 

“I’m alright,” he breathed out, waving my hands away weakly. “I’m fine.”

“You’re _not,”_ I insisted as I fell to both my knees in front of him, cradling his face in my hands. He appeared to be struggling to keep his eyes open, thought his green irises never left my brown ones. “ _You came for me,_ ” my voice trembled with tears, and he looked at me. Kept his eyes fixed on me.

…until they fell to my lips with a heavy blink. He was close enough that I could’ve merely bobbed my head forward to meet his, but Loki looked away before I could think twice about it. So I subdued the fact that I wanted to take him, pull him into me and hold him, for everything he’d done—all the care he’d given me, up to and including now. I was alive because of him.

He struggled to stand upright, but stumbled back toward the gate anyway—somehow mustering the strength to bang his fist against it.

“Open the gate!” he roared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter yet! :D 
> 
> For those of you who're also following the Siren's Mark, that story will have the last two chapters posted simultaneously, so that's why it's taking a bit longer.
> 
> I'm keeping it short today, no character analysis, because I'm exhausted (this week and next week has been/is going to be killer for me). But this is the very first chapter I envisioned when I came up with this story. I loved writing it, and it's not even my favorite. I haven't written my favorite chapter yet, which I think will be the most magical one in the entire book. If you think this is intense, wait til you see what's in store!
> 
> Thank you to everyone that's left a comment. It means a lot, because basically I work 9-5, then rest for an hour at home, study for two more, do my editing job on the weekend (some original work if I have the life blood to spare), and then possibly indulge a little fanfic writing in the evenings. It's temporary chaos, but chaos nonetheless for the next few months. Which is also why chapters typically get posted on weekends. Your feedback reminds me to come back to the work, and comprises the sparse happy emails I get in my inbox these days. So thank you guys so much. Til next time. :)


	8. Don't Know Why, I Just Do

I stared down at the pheasant breast, still hot on the plate, and then looked up at the cut up tomato slices in the Prince’s hand. 

“I can’t, sir,” I said, watching as he lifted one and slipped it between his lips.

“Don’t tempt me to rescind the offer,” he answered plainly, glancing off into the fireplace.“Take it.”

I looked back down at the table separating us—myself on one couch, and Prince Loki across the way.

Nearly a day had gone by since he saved me from the haelstrom, and the palace recovered much more quickly than I’d anticipated. And now, instead of setting me loose at my usual chores, Loki had asked me sit and share his food with him. 

Which wasn’t terribly unusual at this point—save for the fact that today’s meal was particularly…unique.

Along with the great, big elephant in the room that neither of us seemed keen to address. Something we hadn’t discussed since yesterday.

The plate was warm in my hands as I set it down onto my lap, salivating against my better judgement. I arched a brow at him, “Forgive me sir, but… do you know what this is?” 

“ _Asgard’s finest pheasant,_ ” he crooned, tossing one leg over the other as he averted his emerald gaze to me, and lifted another slice to his mouth. “Only three servings are made available per year.” 

And yet one was served to him casually over lunch, because he’d requested it first. “Yes,” I said with an inclining grin, loosening my fingers around the plate. “I…can’t take it.”

“Sure you can,” he said, nodding toward me. “Go on, then.” 

I looked down at it, and then glanced at the fork and knife. “I—” I paused, unable to find the right words.

Loki arched a brow. “You what?” 

Grinning demurely, I glanced up at him. In the past, he’d left portions of his meals for me, but I wasn’t accustomed to eating them right in front of him. Was I even _supposed_ to use a fork and a knife for this? Or was I supposed to use my hands—in front of him? 

“I don’t know how to eat this.”

“You don’t know how to eat pheasant?”

“I…” I paused again, feeling plumes of heat and color licking across my cheeks. “I’ve only ever eaten… _birds_ …” I ground out, inwardly cringing at myself. “…with my hands.” 

He stared for a moment, eyes narrowed observantly, until an amused grin tugged threateningly on the corner of his mouth. “Use your hands then, Aila.” 

“But, it’s unsightly.” 

“ _You’re_ never unsightly,” he answered smoothly—his turn of phrase doing _nothing_ for the redness in my face. 

I looked down and tugged at one of the steaming legs, smiling a bit. “ _Don’t tease me._ ”

Loki smirked. “Then don’t argue.” 

Eating was only mildly uncomfortable after that—after Loki went on picking at the other components of the meal, savings bits and pieces here and there for me. And when we were finished, he sat back against the couch and sighed heavily. I swallowed thickly at his increasingly solemn expression, and set the plate down when I was done.

“Aila, we need to talk about things,” he said.

I let out a heavy breath, readying myself for the inevitable. “I suppose so.” I looked up at him—no part of me was ready to have this conversation. “I’m just a little—”

“Tell me only what you feel comfortable with,” he interjected.

I blinked surprisedly. “W-What?”

Looking into his eyes, I could see the myriad of thoughts whirling around. “I’d obviously like to ask a few questions myself, if I’m to continue employing you,” he said pointedly. “But you don’t have to tell me anything else.” 

“Okay…” I breathed out.

Then came the first question, taut and probing. “Who taught you to use magic?”

“My mother,” I answered sullenly.

“And where did she learn?” 

“She grew up with mentors.”

“And what forms of magic have you learned to use?”

“I can only make shapes—’’

“—projections,” he corrected with a subtle nod.

“Right…and other minors things. Concealing sounds, things like that.”

Loki’s lip quirked a bit. “Does anyone else know about this?” 

“No,” I shook my head. “Just you and me, now.” 

He arched a brow. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he paused. “I’m glad to hear that… I’ve an offer to make you, Aila. And no one else can know about it.”

“What kind of offer?”

The Prince sighed, brows rising matter-of-factly as he leaned in to take more food, “Well can’t have you going around with a growing seidr that you don’t have the fullest control over. You’ll be exposed sooner or later—so, my mother and I would like to help you.”

All the heat that’d been in my cheeks suddenly faded, and I grew cold. “T-The queen?”

“Yes.” 

“Does she know?” 

  
“I’ve only told her that you need our help. I will divulge the rest only when I have your permission.” My subsequent breath came out as a shaky whisper, and Loki raised his hand as he sat back. “And I assure you, your secret would be perfectly safe with us. You may or may not ever have use for it, but I’d like to teach you what I can for preventative measures. For your own safety, and for others. That is why you cannot reveal it to anyone outside our company.”

I relaxed a little, thinking it all over. “Okay.”

I sighed a bit, letting some of the tension pour our. The Prince’s emerald eyes narrowed as he studied me for a moment, and nodded slowly. “Alright, good.”

“Thank you,” I added, and silence passed between us as we stared at each other. “For this, and for yesterday.”

His gaze dropped slowly, “Yes, that…” he mumbled as he looked back up at me. “You’re welcome.” The Prince paused, and I shifted awkwardly for a moment. “And speaking of the queen… In a few weeks' time, we will be going to the mountains. You may join us when the time comes, if you wish,” he added.

“To see the wisps?” 

“To bring one back.”

“Oh.” Truthfully… I’d been hoping he’d offer. If nothing else, to warn the wisps—and to warn their company of what was to come. For all they thought they knew about the wisps, their knowledge was marginal. Mother and I had ventured into those woods so many times, that we had seen and learned to interact with the wisps ourselves. 

Shy little creatures, they’d really only reveal themselves to a familiar face, and come when called by a familiar voice.

I nodded. “Yes, I’d love to come.”

 

 

***

 

 

“You’re really taking her everywhere, aren’t you brother?” Thor quipped, and Loki looked over at his little serving woman, busying away with preparing their horses. Dressed in warmer attire than usual, to weather one of the sparse snowfalls of the season—attire he’d provided for her. A smidge of comfort in her otherwise harsh conditions.

And, about those… Every now and again, watching her from afar like this had had his blood boiling for the past few weeks.

That Astrid woman—the _fucking_ wench that had sent Aila to her death—was _demoted,_ of all things _._ Nothing more. Evidently, Aila was hardly considered enough of a person to warrant any punishment against her, and it was deemed that Astrid couldn’t be held responsible for the Prince’s act of ‘self-endangerment.’ So, she was demoted. A mere slap on the wrist for her indiscretion—her _lack of good judgement,_ that gave rise to the situation from the start.

Loki sighed, glancing at Thor to answer his question. “I offered to bring her, and she wanted to see the forest,” he mumbled, handing his brother the canteen he’d been holding.

“Perhaps it was you she wanted to see,” Sif chimed in suddenly as she passed by a few feet away, and Loki shot her a look. “Don’t think it’ll be dangerous to bring her along?”

“She’ll be fine,” he answered tersely. Loki never liked people questioning his decisions—and lately, he liked their comments and remarks about Aila even less. And he’d been hearing more and more as the weeks went by. 

Though that didn’t mean that Sif’s concern was unfounded. There was said to be a beast guarding the grove of the mountain wisps—in fact, that was to be their marker for finding it, though no one had ever consistently seen the beast before. It was deep in the mountains of Asgard, and only one had ever claimed to witness it.

None of that seemed to deter Aila, however.

She was ever-present these days, always beside him wherever he went. As she should be. And when they disappeared, little did the others know that he’d been secretly been tutoring her. No magic yet, of course—she was to learn the foundations of it first, and spent the last few weeks reading tomes with his assistance.

Literally, at that—since Aila had needed help pronouncing and understanding some of the words. Her literacy was far from advanced, and even she knew it. Loki had sat across from her on his chamber couch on a number of occasions, and every now and again, he took the tome to read it out for her when she’d grown tired.

Aila always asked smart questions, too—inquiring about the meanings of certain words and their implications. The way her eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she considered his answers was nothing short of intriguing. Loki enjoyed the feeling of being listened to.

Though the whole endeavor had its unintended effects. Her eyes, which were made lighter by the glow of the fire, had become haunting. More than once, Loki had dreamed of her the night following a lesson, and found himself in a compromising state upon waking. A quick, cold shower was sometimes the remedy, on the most relentlessly sleepless nights.

On top of that, it certainly didn’t help that Loki had admittedly allowed himself too much. Too much time for his eyes to linger over her form—too much room in his mind for sordid images.

He’d begun to feel that familiar, dull ache, which he’d felt since the beginning—when he watched the attractive serving woman sauntering about his chamber. Said attraction was….a nuisance. It was a nuisance then, and a nuisance now. Hell, he’d nearly died because of this incessant attachment, and it didn’t help that he remembered clearly how her lips had felt when he’d accidentally brushed against them.

“We’re ready to head out,” Fandral called back to them all—the Warriors three and the princes. The company included Aila, of course, who had taken a separate horse. Together, they galloped only to the edge of the forest, where they tied their horses and left them behind for the day. Perhaps the night—they’d had plenty of food and water to last them, and were left with some as well.

After that, they trekked for what seemed like hours, moving toward the direction that the last known sighting of a wisp had taken place.

“You’re reading that wrong,” Loki scuffled with Thor a bit, trying to take the map from his hands. “Hand it over.” In the corner of his eye, he saw Aila grin amusedly, her boots crunching in the snow behind them—eyes downcast.

“I’m reading it just fine,” Thor insisted, pushing Loki back.

“Will you two stop fighting?” Volkstag huffed from ahead.

“Yes, indeed—we’ll find it with or without you doing so,” Sif added. “But we’ll be doubly annoyed with you doing it.”

“He’s slowing the rest of us down,” Loki argued. “If he’d given the damn thing to me, we would have found the grove already.”

Sif and Volkstag exchanged glances. “ _Perhaps he’s right…_ ” Loki heard her mumble.

“I _am_ right.”

“You haven't shut up since we set off on this trip, brother,” Thor muttered annoyedly. “And yet we still haven’t found it, have we? We’ll return to mother empty handed, at this rate.”

Loki dropped his arms at that, and stared at his brother. The rest of the company slowed. “You’re ridiculous, do you know that? We _can’t_ return empty handed. You know why she needs the wisps.” 

“No one knows the lighter magics better than they do, I know,” Thor said. “She told me. And whatever this cure she’s trying to research, I—”

“You understand nothing about it, we’re well aware,” Loki interjected.

“You won’t hurt them will you?” Aila’s voice suddenly cut through the banter.

Loki stopped, stepping back from Thor to look at her. The fur of her short vest barely touched her sweeping jaw, and her eyes were neutral as she stared at the ground past the brothers—where the others had stopped and had been looking back at her as well.

“No,” Thor answered her. “We’ve no intentions of hurting them.”

“Do you swear it?”

Loki furrowed a brow at the remark—at the _demanding_ nature of it. Not that he would’ve minded if she’d addressed him that way, but it was concerning to think that she was comfortable speaking to others like that. He couldn’t always be there to protect her.

“Yes,” Loki said to her. “You have… _my_ word.”

Aila raised her chin thoughtfully a bit, keeping her eyes down on the snow, and then suddenly took off on a brisk jog through the woods. Loki saw Thor exchange confused glances with the others, but he took off after her before they had the chance to question it. The others followed after them quickly, shooting subtle questions of ‘ _what’s going on?_ ’ and ‘ _where is she going?’_ for the next few minutes that they spent trailing after her.

Loki watched her backside—lingering too long in certain places—and listened to her light steps crunching the snow as she ran intermittently, looked around, and walked.

Until finally, she stopped altogether. They were near a cliff now, not far from where they started—merely a bit higher up. They couldn’t see it from where they were, but the trees above their heads revealed the open sky just after the hill. There, there were no more trees. No more mountains. They would be facing Asgard if they hiked to the top.

Aila’s waves brushed over the fur as she looked around, and Loki walked over to her from behind. “Aila?” he murmured, laying a hand on her back before he even realized he’d reached for her. She gave no sign of noticing, and merely continued looking around with narrow eyes—until they heard something.

Every last one of them shuddered at the deep, wild growl that cut through the air. With a sudden thump, Loki spun toward the creature slightly downhill of them—an immense beast, resembling a cross between a wolf and a fox, was bearing its teeth at them. He slid in front of Aila instinctively as the others drew their swords, and pushed her back with his arm.

Warm, gloved hands enclosed his bare hand suddenly, and he whipped his head around to see Aila’s haunting gaze meeting his briefly—a look of peace and gratitude etched across her features. She lifted his hand up—as though in gratitude—and kissed his knuckles sweetly, before letting his hand go. He only wished it wasn’t so apparent that his breathing ceased, as the plumes of fog had ceased with it.

From there, Loki watched dumfounded as Aila briskly walked around the group, emerging before the beast as the others stumbled back.

“What are you _doing!?”_ they cried. “Get over here!” 

Aila gave them no thought as she slowed her steps toward the beast, and Loki stumbled forward. “Aila— _Aila!_ ” he cried.  

She paid no mind to him either, and Loki paused at the subtle whisper of sound coming from her. A quiet little tune, in a language he didn’t recognize. The whole company stood still, holding their breaths as Aila sauntered toward the beast casually—watching in shock as its teeth disappeared quickly with a sniff.It walked toward her in a gentler pace, smelling her hand, and finally sweeping its tail around her as it nuzzled her affectionately.

Aila was smiling. And Loki gaped from where he stood, having barely stumbled ahead of the others. Aila then looked up suddenly—as though sensing something—and turned her head slowly to look up into the trees.

It was then that Loki noticed the subtle glow permeating the space. It was almost evening time, so he was surprised to have not seen them sooner—the multitudes of little white wisps floating down toward Aila. The creature moved away as they descended to her, leaving little trails of light as they went. She held out a hand, smiling broadly and murmuring something indiscernibly as they floated all around her—some lifting strands of her hair up in a gesture of affection.

The scene left the company at a loss of words. The light that the wisps cast on her almost seemed to give her a glow of her own—and every movement, every expression that she made was practically mystical.

It seemed to take Aila a moment to remember that there were others present, and her smile faltered a bit when she noticed them staring. She pressed her lips together, and looked about at the wisps, as though remembering why she was here. One of them floated closer to her, illuminating her features in its ambient light. “I must ask a favor of one of you…”

 

 

***

 

 

The wisp would return with them, and the company had decided to spend the night out in the woods. It would have been a long, arduous walk back to the edge of the forest, and they likely would’ve gotten lost.

Aila answered little questions here and there about how and what had happened earlier, reluctantly divulging the stories she’d heard as a child. The bits of a broken language that her mother had taught her, and other things that explained her knowledge of their whereabouts. However, she was mum about how she’d actually come to know the wisps, on what was very clearly a personal basis. 

“It was my mother,” she repeated again and again.

“But how do they know _you?”_ Sif insisted.

“They know me because of my mother,” she insisted. “Sometimes we were sent out for our duties, and we’d sneak a bit into the woods, where they were.”

“But why would they venture out so far from the grove? We’re deep in the woods, as is…”

Loki stared at her intently. They ventured out from the grove, because… _because she was lying_. He could see it clearly—she was lying about how she came to know these creatures.

“Those would be better questions for my mother,” she answered, sounding a bit disheartened. 

“And where is she?”

“She died,” Aila muttered tersely, and the company went silent.

“Oh,” Sif breathed out. “I’m sorry.” 

“As am I, Aila…” Thor added gently. “May I ask, how did she die?”

“I don’t know,” Aila shook her head. “We couldn’t take her to the healing wing. I’ll never know what she died of.” Again, they went silent.

The fire was dim—almost gone—and she finally sighed, standing with a discontented expression, before anyone could ask her any more questions. “Excuse me, please.”

Loki watched as Aila turned and walked over to the small tent that was set up for her. For all that it was cold outside, Asgardian camping gear would keep her—keep all of them—exceptionally warm. As though it were a summer night outside, instead of the tail end of winter. The company went on in quiet whisperings for some time after that, until it was time for sleep. Loki joined them all in retiring to his tent, though the day’s events had clung to his thoughts. What was Aila’s true story? Would he ever really know?

He laid there for some time, merely staring at the roof of his tent—where the shadows of trees danced over the material, bathing it in moonlight.

Until he heard a noise. 

Loki sat up slowly, listening for it again.

Gentle footsteps. Yes—they were… Aila’s footsteps, he thought. No, he was sure.

They walked off from the camp, and up the hill. Loki waited for a time to see if she was out on a personal matter, and frowned when she didn’t return. He considered going back to bed at first, though the idea of continuing to lay there fruitlessly quickly became the uninteresting option. So he dressed himself back into his camping attire, which was lighter than the others,’ and exited his tent. 

The night was icy, even more so now that it was late. Aila’s footsteps were small in the snow, and glinted where the light of the overhead moon allowed them to, between the shadows of the branches. He followed them up the hill, stopping when he saw Aila beside the cliff overlooking the city. She was standing strangely close to the edge, arms crossed, and was otherwise unmoving. Loki arched a brow at the sight, and something inside him lurched when her foot slowly touched the edge.

“Aila,” he said as calmly as he could, and she immediately turned back. The glowing city lights illuminated her features, which struck him the moment she turned.

Her cheeks were wet. Eyes _dead._ None of the earlier mirth and thoughtfulness—simply dead. 

“ _Sir—I’m sorry,_ ” she breathed out, unfurling her arms to wipe away her wetness. Loki sauntered toward her, hearing her sniffle as he came up beside her. She sighed, “I’m so sorry…” 

Loki slipped his hands into his pockets, watching her as she turned back toward the cliff’s edge. His eyes narrowed as he watched her for a moment, studying the depth of her sadness.

“Aila,” he murmured. “This is where you used to come with her, isn’t it?”

She stopped, and looked up at him reluctantly. “W-What?”

“Your mother,” he said. “These creatures didn’t venture anywhere—you did. You came here with her, didn’t you?”

Aila pressed her lips together tightly, eyes watering again as she nodded. “Yes.” 

“I won’t tell the others.” 

The ghost of a smile tugged on her mouth. “I know you won’t.” 

Loki watched her for a moment. Her soft, feminine jaw, the unruliness of her light brown locks, the softness of her skin… He was never any good with comfort. Others’ suffering brought him pleasure at times, if the circumstances were amusing, but this was certainly not one of those moments. Loki was no good with feelings—only… _questions._

“Tell me about her,” he said, and she looked at him. “You haven’t told me what she was like.”

Aila shot him a confused look. “Y-You want to know about her?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

“But…why?”

“Because she produced you,” he answered earnestly, grinning a bit. “And I find you simply _fascinating._ ” 

Aila gaze turned ahead absently, without reacting, and her eyes sagged with a heavy emotion. “She was…very protective of me.” Aila waited a moment, as though deciding whether the next thing was a good idea to mention. Though her decision was made plain by the sadness overtaking all else in her eyes. “And she never wanted this for me, she…she wanted me to learn the seidr well enough to escape someday.” 

Tension flickered through Loki’s jaw, hindering whatever was left of that grin, and she went on, “She was always telling me to think more of myself than a slave,” Aila paused, tears welling again. “But how could I have done that when I was reminded of it every day? Especially in the end, when there was nothing I could do to have her helped, or even seen. There was no greater reminder than that…”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Loki said after a moment, watching the tears spilling over her cheeks again—though she kept her expression stern. The view must have gotten quite blurry. “If she was anything like you, she deserved better.”

“She was just a good person,” Aila shook her head, letting loose a few more tears. “And she deserved what any good person did.”

Loki swallowed the biting regret that suddenly rose, recalling how he stood by the day that Aila’s mother fell at the feast.

“I could have helped you,” he said, suddenly unable to look at her. Aila had begged for help, and his apathy had resulted in this moment. “I’m sorry, Aila.”

There was silence beside him for some time. No acceptance of his apology, or anything else. With each passing moment, the quiet became more and more gut wrenching, and he nearly turned to walk away from her—away from the scene, and whatever pain he’d added to it. Perhaps he shouldn’t have brought that up at all.

All that came was a sob.

Loki stopped mid-turn, and didn’t think about it. He looked back at her the moment he heard the sound, seeing how her face was twisted with pain, and stepped back toward her. Her sobs had stifled for a moment from shock as he pulled her in to a loose embrace, but they soon resumed quietly as she wrapped her arms around his backside. Loki rested his chin against the side of her head, and every now and again, he felt the brush of her crying breath lifting up against his skin. 

And… it was strange. As he gazed out into the city, Loki furrowed a brow at how exponentially his heart had begun to beat against his ribs—loud enough for her to hear it, surely, which prompted him to pull away.

He was led by instinct alone, at this point, and stopped upon seeing the pain in her face. Loki felt his own expression sinking, brows creasing together painfully as he looked down at her. Aila had been looking everywhere except at him, and his hands found themselves on either sides of her neck. The gesture was warm, affectionate, and it only drove her into more tears as her hands gripped his forearms. 

“Don’t cry,” he murmured. “Please.”

Finally, she looked at him. Stared him right in the eyes, and the barest hint of a smile touched her lips—she herself was clearly trying to swallow the remaining tears.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, wiping away a stray tear that had run down to his hand.

“Don’t be.” He shook his head. Loki brushed away the other tears that were a lost cause, stopping them before they too reached halfway down her cheeks. While all the while, Aila stared up at him without flinching at his touch.

Loki grinned slightly. “You don’t recoil from me.”

She seemed distracted enough for the tears to slow, and her smile grew as she cast her gaze to the side, letting out a breathy chuckle. “I don’t think I ever have.”

Aila’s eyes widened a bit as Loki’s legs carried him closer to her, and she looked back up at him.

He murmured quietly, brushing her cheek once more as he leaned in slowly. “Why is that, I wonder…”

She didn’t have time to answer. And there was nothing in him that wanted to wait. Loki’s breath ceased as he pulled her closer, and she stumbled into him clumsily—her breathing was far more shallow—and closed her eyes as he slated his lips over hers.

Because he wanted to. There were no inhibitions between them in that moment—it wasn’t the time for rationalizations and thinking. Her skin was exceptionally warm in this winter air, and Loki accepted it, however strange it was that _this_ conversation had been the one to lead to it. The subtle, smacking sounds of their lips—how many times had he imagined what it would sound like? How many times had he imagined the softness of her skin? The gentle breeze of her breath now fanning his cheeks?

Loki’s hand trailed up to her hair, pulling her in to him more and more—all thoughts of the day forgotten with each passing moment.

His other hand trailed over her chest and down to her waist, and she squeaked a bit when he tugged her closer to him—responding as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Loki tried to pull away for a moment, to _breathe,_ and his lip caught slightly between her teeth as he did. 

His eyes widened as he stared down at her, and as did hers. As though they were thinking the same thing— _the prince and the slave._ What in the hell did they think they were doing? Aila hadn’t even blinked in the seconds that passed, though her expression was unchanged—as though she too, was suddenly unsure of where this was going.

… _perhaps it was going toward that tree just behind her._

Eyes weighing heavily, Loki felt the atmosphere overtaking him. The more he looked at her, the more beautiful she was. 

Aila stumbled as Loki pushed her back, lips slating over hers once more—more passionately, this time—and she gripped him tighter as he shoved her against the tree. Now led by instinct alone, Loki invaded her mouth, relishing her quiet moan as his tongue brushed against hers, her hand tightening in his own hair this time. And when her body bent into his, Loki felt the brush of her leg against his, and took it as a chance to hoist her up before him.

Aila gasped with shock as she slammed back into the tree, and smiled as he leaned in to her.

He couldn’t think—couldn’t see anything beyond where his lips where, where his _tongue_ was, in that moment. Arousal coursed through him, and he was all too eager for it. Loki pressed against her without regard for the already-painful tightness in his trousers, and he let his heart beat as wildly as it was. Let his hands grip her thighs tightly as they locked around his waist. She didn’t give the slightest hint at relenting, and Loki wondered just how far this would go in the next few moments—

She pulled away suddenly, legs unhinging from behind his back. Her mouth was upturned in an embarrassed smile, and Loki—slightly dazed—recognized the glow on her face, turning back to see the entourage of wisps descending on them once more. 

And just like that, they were being watched.

Aila brought her hands up to her cheeks and laughed—and then laughed some more. As unpleasant as the interruption was, Loki still managed to grin at the pleasant sound.

“Alright,” he murmured amusedly as he stepped back, awkwardly wiping at his damp lower lip. “I’ll just…leave you to this.”

Aila merely glanced up at him, and then at the ever-approaching wisps as he turned and trailed back down the hill. With one last glance, an immense satisfaction swept over him at the bright, mirthful smile sprawled across her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was wrong, this is the longest chapter. Sorry it came out a bit late, I had a guest all of last week so I didn't get the chance to get much work done.
> 
> Thank you so much to every last one of you. I try to drop hints of what's to come in most of my chapters, and every now and again, one of you catches it-I have the smartest readers! :) Thank you all for reading, and thank you for favoriting/following and comments. It means so much to me, some of your comments move me so profoundly as a writer. So I hope you enjoyed this development in Loki and Aila's relationship! Poor Loki, doesn't quite understand why he's feeling what he's feeling-only knows that he just "does." Til next time, my lovelies!


	9. The Things We Know

The following morning, I awoke feeling…odd. Neither upset nor happy. Simply neutral—as though I’d suddenly had room in my heart to appreciate the simplicity of the snow glistening on the treetops, the freshness of the morning air sweeping through me like a cleansing force. As I crawled out of my tent, I saw that the others had awoken already—Loki among them. And when they said hello, Loki’s eyes lingered a bit before looking away, warmed by a slight grin that graced his features.

Save for the occasional ‘ _watch your step’_ and sidelong glance, we didn’t say much to each other while the others were present, though Loki did trail beside me for the rest of the trip. Which earned us the occasional glance, but no one mentioned how he no longer strode in front of me.

Hours later, I sprawled over my bed and contemplated things—namely how all of Loki’s kind words and gestures over the past few months had paled utterly in comparison to last night’s affection. The thought alone made me smile, my thoughts trailing absently to other places as I lay there…

“Aila?” I jumped suddenly, my eyes flying open to the sight of Davos situating himself down in the middle of the bed—brown hair slightly longer, and wilder than usual. He grinned as his eyes flickered down to my flushed cheeks, “What were _you_ thinking about?”

“Nothing important,” I shook my head as I sat up.

“If it makes you smile like _that_ , it must be important.”

“It’s nothing—nothing I want to talk about anyway,” I responded as kindly as I could.

Confusion flickered in his eyes. “Well, we don’t seem to talk these days at all anymore.”

“I know. It’s neither of our faults, I’ve just been occupied well into the evenings—you know that.”

“Right,” he nodded a bit sullenly. “Since you started working for the lesser Prince.”

I frowned. “Please don’t call him that, Davos.”

His brows shot up. “What? You’ve called him that yourself on many occasions—just last week, even.”

“Well, now I don’t.”

It was easy to see the bit of darkness slowly clouding over his expression. “Aila…” he muttered darkly. “Why do you care all of a sudden?”

I shrugged. “Is it so strange to be bothered by someone insulting the man I work for? He’s been good to me, you know that as well.”

“I do,” he nodded, “You’re lucky enough to have a harmonious bond with the man you serve, but there are boundaries—” 

“I’m well aware, Davos,” I interjected curtly. “I know where the lines are. I haven’t crossed any.”

He arched a brow suspiciously. “I wasn’t suggesting you had already.”

In fact, I _had_ crossed a line just twenty-four hours ago—and I would do it again. Anger pulsed through me as I rose. “I don’t want to talk about this. Come, we have the dinner to attend to, and I must change.”

“Aila,” Davos ground out, and I stopped, half-turnt toward him. The sad, solemn look etched in his expression softened me a bit. “Please don’t run from me when I try to talk to you. I will always be your friend, first and foremost. I won’t condemn you for anything—I only want you to be safe.”

Guilt replaced the anger, and I looked down at the ground before his feet. He was right—Davos had only ever proven that he wanted what was best for me. Whatever it was that came over me, I felt guilty for it—though, not nearly guilty enough to fully explain why. Even I didn’t understand my own defensiveness completely. Perhaps it was anxiety, some deeply rooted instinct telling me that last night was a mistake against my own safety. Perhaps my heart stepped in to fight—to defend—the kiss when he implied it.

Davos didn’t seem like he intended to push me any further. Knowing him as long as I had, I knew he sensed that something was off. Though we both knew that trying to force me to speak would prove fruitless, and likely have the opposite effect. So he didn’t push me—not as he stood and came in for a quick embrace, and not as he ushered me away to prepare for the dinner.

Loki would not be in attendance this evening, but his mother would—not that I would see her. The servants would be caring for her company, and a select few slaves were chosen to set up the rest of the hall that evening.

I was the only woman chosen among the group of male slaves—all carrying the heavy chairs to the room, and climbing up with heavy lamps to decorate the hall. Even though Astrid was demoted, traces of her position remained, and this was one of them. I’d nearly slipped on the ladder at some point, and the nearby guard had clearly grown tired of my _incompetence…_ it was sheer luck that Davos had managed to finish his task, and rushed over to help with mine. The overseeing guard backed off when he saw that the work would be finished, though not without a threatening quip.

I scowled bitterly when I turned away, and the rotting feeling stayed with me until we were finished. It was late, and I was positively exhausted. Even back in the kitchen, as I gnawed away on the stale bread that was left for me—another one of Astrid’s ‘changes’ that hadn’t been reversed—I was damn near tears. All this was supposed to end once she was gone, but I couldn’t say anything. The complaint alone could be costly.

If there weren’t other people around, I _would_ have cried. From hunger, from exhaustion… Though that would have led to an onslaught of questions from the other slaves, and the servants might have complained—another costly consequence. 

“Still enjoying that, are you?” A familiar voice came from behind me as I leaned against the countertop.

I turned my head slowly, recognizing both the voice and the skirt. Astrid. She’d been trailing behind the new Head Maid, who seemed to spare a glance before she continued onward. Everyone else in the kitchen had turned and glanced at us—most of them continuing on with their business in the meantime.

None, save for the two of us and the Prince, knew what Astrid’s issues were with me. A favorite of the royal family, the rumors said. No one among the slaves had an inkling of the truth—I hadn’t told anyone after all, though there was no telling what Astrid had told her peers.

I turned back to the table, willing myself to let it go.

“ _Aila,_ ” she ordered again, but I ignored it. I was already tired and upset—no need to tempt the ire further. 

A hand suddenly grasped my shoulder, and tugged me back harshly enough for me to drop the bread. I stared down at it on the ground, frustration rising at the thought of not having anything else to eat until tomorrow. Our long trek that morning hadn’t earned me any additional food, and while Loki would likely share one meal with me, most likely, every ounce of food mattered—I hated the idea of not getting enough from what he offered me. Now, I would be that much more hungry.

Astrid kicked it away, and the kitchen went silent. The guards watched from the doors that the Head Maid had gone through, shifting slightly at the disturbance. I tried to step away, and she stood in front of me instead.

An unsettling grin tugged at her lip. “I’ve been demoted, you know,” she hissed quietly—perhaps only loud enough for the two of us to hear—and her feminine voice was laced with a thinly veiled aggression. “Because you’ve somehow gotten someone to give half a shit about you.”

Panic bloomed in me, and I tried again to squirm away from her—but she didn’t let me. She stepped in closer, further locking me against the table. “What is it about you that has him so vexxed?” she crooned, and I gasped when she reached up and gave my hair a tug. “You’re not even pleasant to look at—can’t be that much better without your clothes on.”

I was starting to see red, and I dared a glance up at her shoulder as I tried to push away. “ _Leave me alone_ , Astrid.”

“Or what?” she mused. “Are you going to go run and tell your Prince? Tell him that someone’s been terrorizing his little bed ornament? We already saw how _that_ played out, didn’t we?” We did—absolutely _nothing_ happened to her. “He’s really proven something by choosing you, perhaps his own idiocy for thinking that you could ever satisfy him the way a _woman_ could…”

My hands clenched into fists, a headache raging between my temples—sending bolts of pain up my neck as I tensed more and more. “ _I said, leave me alone…_ ” My own voice had begun to tremble.

“Tell me, does he ever talk about me?” she murmured quietly, close enough that I could feel her breath on my cheek. “Does he ever mention how our evening had satisfied him? How he hissed my name in a moment of ecstasy?”

 _He didn’t know your name._ I was almost tempted to say it—the vile combination of jealousy and disgust had practically demanded it. 

“…but then again, what would the lesser Prince know to say, anyway? He’s thrown his own intelligence in question, proven hardly deserving of more than something like _you_ can offer.”

My hand flew through the air before I’d even realized it, striking her hard enough to send her back a few feet, crashing into the table. Gasps erupted, and I merely stood there, wide-eyed, with my hand still in the air. Fear crept in, blooming wildly at the grin that Astrid wore as she turned back to me slowly.

“Guards!” she suddenly screamed, and movement flurried. Panic and terror shot through me, and I bolted across the kitchen, weaving through the crowd of people—as though there was somewhere I could’ve escaped through. The offices at the end of the hall? Those were for the servants, I’d drop from the window and die if I tried to escape through there.

I tried to reach the door, jumping around the tables and darting between others who stood watching, but I was caught. Hands clamped down harshly on my shoulders and arms, bending them in ways they shouldn’t be bent. I screamed out and cried, mostly in fear of what was about to come.

Attacking a servant, was… _severe_. 

How could I have been so foolish? Exhaustion and hunger was no excuse—how could I have done this? Where did I even find the _nerve?_ None of it mattered, now. None of it mattered as I fought the guards vehemently—tugging and pulling and crying out in protest as they dragged me away. I screamed and cried, but only the other slaves looked at me—wetness reddening some of their eyes. The servants stared on blankly, though pity did grace _some_ of their faces.

They all knew what was coming.

 

 

***

 

 

Something pulsed through Loki, rousing him as he sat up from his bed.

Something wasn’t right…

It was nighttime already, but he wasn’t expecting Aila to return—she’d had another assignment for the evening, and was to return to the catacombs afterward. He’d been sleeping peacefully until that sharp instinct tore through him, urging him that something was awry—but with whom? Obviously his first thought was Aila—nothing within the palace walls posed a threat to anyone else that mattered. His mother and father could take care of themselves, as could his brother, and anything that threatened them would have made itself known to all.

 _Investigate_ , the instinct urged him, and he stood from his bed. Loki quickly slipped into a pair of pants and boots, and threw a heavy robe over his bare back—barely tying it as he threw open the door and walked out. But where? He paused and continued intermittently, wandering around the hallways, trying to get a glimpse of that instinct again. 

Dread had filled him, and annoyance topped it off at his utter inability to discern its source.

“Loki?” He turned sharply, seeing his mother just down the hallway from him, surrounded by her handmaidens. “What are you doing here, so late in the evening?”

He might’ve asked her the same thing, had he not known about the dinner with her friends. That was what Aila was called away for. “I…don’t know,” he shook his head. “Something roused me from sleep, and I haven’t discerned what it was.” 

Two of the handmaidens exchanged a quick look, while the queen looked on. Loki furrowed a brow slightly at them as Frigga spoke, “It’ll do you no good to wander about like this, go back to sleep and see how you feel in the morning.” 

“Perhaps,” he mumbled, watching as one of the girls glanced at the other. “Is Aila alright? How did she seem tonight?”

“I didn’t see her,” Frigga turned to her handmaidens. “She must have gone back to the kitchens—didn’t she, girls?” All three of them—tall and willowy—fell silent, gazing at the queen perturbedly. Frigga frowned. “…Didn’t she?”

Finally, the middle one answered after a moment of silence. “Aila was in the kitchens, yes, but…”

The queen arched a brow. “But what?”

“But there was a…confrontation earlier this evening, we heard about it from someone.”

A nervous knot formed in Loki’s stomach. “What kind of confrontation?” 

“They said the lady Astrid was chastising her, and…Aila struck her.”

“ _She did what?”_ His voice came out as barely a whisper. A transgression like that… 

“Why on Earth would she do such a thing?” the queen inquired incredulously.

“Our friend heard semblances of what lady Astrid said,” the maiden looked back at her, “She was addressing your youngest in a disrespectful manner. The guards took her away…”

Anxiety and ire twisted in Loki’s chest. Ire at Aila’s foolishness—her utter disregard for her own safety, in the face of such a trivial thing, and anxiety for her current state. Wherever she was, there wasn’t a chance this didn’t go unpunished—if they were harsh enough, she could already be….

 _No._ He refused to think it.

Loki turned and strode down the hallway.

“Loki!” his mother called for him, and then quickly dismissed her handmaidens before coming after him. “Where are you going?”

“I have to find her,” he growled.

“You don’t have to do anything—”

“I _have_ to find her!” he cried, stopping mid-stride, and Frigga stopped just beside him—glaring up at her son.

“But, _why?_ ”

“Because, I—” he paused, lips parting and closing as he tried to find the right words. “She’s been good to me, and I care for her wellbeing! Is that a crime?”

“It very well could be,” Frigga muttered lowly. 

Now wasn’t the time to contemplate the implications. Loki shook his head and walked away, murmuring to himself, “I must find her.”

“I’m coming with you.” Frigga’s footsteps came up behind him. 

“What? No—”

“Where are you going to look first, son?” She raised a brow at him knowingly. “Have you any idea where to start? Do you know _anything_ about how the guard is trained to handle such matters?” He stared at her. “I didn’t think so. Now come,” she strode ahead of him, “Let’s go.”

Loki paused, feeling the anxiety taper off from the strength of his mother’s resolve. “Where?”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “The catacombs.”

He followed after her. There were no disguises this time, no masks or anything else to hide their identities. Two guards had followed them down into the humid hollows of the catacombs, and everything looked just the same as Loki appraised it—the same, yellow glow of the torches, and worn furniture. Everything was just as filthy as he remembered it. Some of the slaves were sleeping, while others roused from the sudden disturbance in the halls.

Loki stuttered to a stop at the sight of one of the small beds, nestled against the far wall. There were clothes lying atop it, and their blood-red stains were bright and large enough to be seen where he was standing. His breath deepened, eyes widened as his hands clenched into fists.

 _Calm._ He needed to remain calm, despite the images flooding his mind—of Aila wearing that gods forsaken uniform. Of her being tortured and mutilated enough to stain them so badly. Loki turned his head sharply, and approached the very first slave that fell into his sight—a young woman, frightfully pale, who recoiled at his approach.

“Aila, the slave woman,” his baritone voice came out as a slight growl. “Do you know her?”

The girl nodded. 

“Do you know where she is?”

She looked up at him, sucking in her gaunt cheeks—which only made her blue eyes that much bigger. That much more unsettling. She scurried away without really giving an answer, and Loki exchanged glances with Frigga before following after her, matching her pace as she led them down several halls.

Near the turn of a corner, Loki’s breath hitched in his throat at a piercing scream. Dirt kicked up as he came to a stuttering halt. His mother stopped beside him, eyes equally wide with shock. They exchanged reluctant glances before continuing onward, into the next room. Which must have been something of an infirmary, and the source of the scream was immediately placed by another one—which was evidently enough to knock the screamer unconscious.

She lay at the far end of the cavernous room, her face nearly white with paleness, and her usual attire was abandoned for a short tunic that allowed for proper dressing of her wounds. 

…of which, there were _so_ many. He couldn’t possibly count. And he didn’t want to—Loki was rooted in place, unable to look away at the splinted, gashing wounds covering Aila’s body. Streams of dried blood covering her limbs. Frigga’s breath came out as a tremble beside him, and it only took a moment for everyone in the room to realize they were present. Moments more for them to step away, even the person who seemed to be caring for Aila’s wounds. Only one remained—the young man kneeling beside her, stroking her hand, who merely looked back at the two of them from across the room.

Loki recognized him, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered in that moment. Nothing else was being registered as he approached her, falling to one knee beside the bed.

“Aila?” he murmured, laying a hand on her head, and stroking her hair. “ _Aila?”_

“She’s been in and out,” the man said tersely, and Loki looked over at him—straight into his unyielding gaze.

“Why hasn’t she been seen by a healer!?” Loki ground out.

“We don’t have that privilege,” the man muttered bitterly, and only then Loki see the tinge of wetness lining his eyes. It reflected a bit of the torchlight when he looked back down at Aila, and brought her hand up to his lips.

“ _No…”_ Loki shook his head, and stood—reaching with one arm under her knees, and the other carefully around her shoulder.

“W-What are you _doing?_ ” the man rose with him.

“I’m taking her to the healers.” Loki turned with Aila in his arms. Frigga stood near the entrance, still seemingly unable to fully digest the scene.

“Didn’t you hear what I said!?” the man said daringly, and Loki shot him a glare over his shoulder.  
  
“I heard you _fine_ ,” he scowled, and stormed off before the man could get another word in, passing by Frigga on his way out. “Come, mother.”

The queen nodded faintly, but stared back at the bed where Aila had been laying. Loki stopped. “Are you alright?” She nodded again, and Loki frowned. “Take her to her chambers,” he said to one of the guards.

Frigga’s head turned toward him sharply. “What? No, no I’m alright—”

“You’re not alright,” he muttered. “Go. I will deal with this.”

One glance at the young girl, and Frigga had to look away—nodding just briskly enough to suggest that Loki made the right call.

He didn’t wait for her to argue as he stalked back through the catacombs. Aila felt so small in his arms, so light—but of course she did, she’d hardly eaten for several weeks, because of that woman. And that _woman…_ He’d had enough. She was as good as a dead woman walking. One way or another, Loki would take this matter into his own hands.

He walked quickly, trying to reach the healers as fast as he could. Naturally, there was a great deal of protest—about the slave’s ability to pay for the treatment, if nothing else.

“ _I will pay for it,_ ” he argued again and again, assuring them that _he_ would pay the ‘advanced’ cost for the care of a slave. Which allowed her to be properly cleaned and clothed in better attire. A white dress that ended at her knees, and a soft, white robe to cover her shoulders

“Three thousand gold pieces,” the healer muttered when they were finished, and Loki glared at her.

“Three _thousand,”_ he repeated bitterly, and the woman nodded. “Yet you refuse to watch her for the night—what services rendered could yield such an extravagant cost?”

“I understand your objections, my lord,” the healer insisted earnestly. “I _truly_ do—but these are our laws. The laws of the Allfather. It’s unorthodox to have a slave here at all.”

“What am I to do with her, then?”

“Allow her to rest somewhere,” the healer said, and approached him with a handful of small tablets. “Her surface wounds have healed, but she will be in great pain until the process is finished. Have her take these tonight if she wakes, they will also help with the pain.” Loki eyed the tablets as she turned and strode away, giving him a final look over her shoulder. “I truly am sorry.”

The glare he gave her must have been icy, and it turned to discomfort when she was gone. Silence hardened throughout the room, and he looked over at Aila, still lying on the table—barely moving. His boots echoed through the room as he shuffled toward her, gently lifting a strand of hair from her face.

It seemed so simple that day in the woods. He hadn’t thought ahead nor behind when they shared that moment—her hot mouth colliding with his, pressing her against the tree. It felt so damnably good, that he’d forgotten how fragile it all was. How fragile _she_ was, and vulnerable to persecution. This person, who was neither treated nor viewed as such in his own home. He was powerless to stop this happening to her.

 _There was no greater reminder…_ Aila’s words from that night suddenly echoed in his mind.

Her mother’s death was the greatest reminder of her station—of her place in this world. It felt the same right then, with no relief to the sting in sight.

Loki brushed his fingers over her cheeks, wondering when he had begun to care for her so much. It all started with him, with a harmless curiosity, and now…its only end was with him.

She winced a bit when he bent down to lift her again, though the medication kept her asleep. “There, now,” he murmured quietly, trying to distribute the pressure of his arms where he thought it wouldn’t hurt her.

Aila would be fully healed by morning, but she wouldn’t be returning to the catacombs tonight.

 

***

 

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept so soundly. So _comfortably._ And when the morning light poured over my eyes, I opened them slowly, registering the softness of a pillow beneath my head—the pressure of a thick blanket comforting me wholly. If not for that, I would’ve had a moment of panic at not knowing where I was. And I might’ve sat up sharply, if not for the soreness I still felt all over my body. Instead I rose slowly, steadily scanning the familiar surroundings.

I paused the moment I realized just where I was—the Prince’s chambers. His bed. _I was in Loki’s bed._

I turned my head sharply, seeing the pillow missing from the other half of the bed. The subtle aroma of fragrant spices lifted from the covers at the sudden movement, and it took one look about the room to notice the pillow lying far off on one of the couches—where Loki lay atop it. With one leg bent against the back of the couch, his arms were crossed over his chest. 

As I stared at his sleeping form, I spent a moment combing through whatever I remembered from the day before: Astrid, the guards, and… barbed whips that damn near clung to my flesh.

I shuddered a bit, shaking my head to purge the image from my eyes.

Loki seemed well asleep as I took in the peacefulness for a moment, wondering what had actually transpired in the time I was unconscious. It was like falling asleep—my vision had gone black with tiny little blotches, and my own blood was the last thing I’d seen. Now there was a vast, white blanket strewn before me.

My eyes darted down to my body next, and I felt around for remnants of the punishment—feeling only the familiar scars that I’d collected from lesser ones over the years.

I looked over at Loki, feeling thankful for the robe that covered the lot of them. Had he put it on me himself? Had he…changed my clothes? Heat flushed through me at the implication alone, though I quickly deduced that it couldn’t have been the case. I was healed, which meant that I had somehow ended up in the healer’s wing. They must have done it.

Which also meant that…he must have taken me. Who else would do it, after all? Who else would, or _could_ , carry the encumbering expense of healing a slave?

Warmth spread through my chest, and my legs slid out from the blanket before I even realized that I was moving. I tugged the robe more tightly across my chest and sauntered toward him, kneeling beside him on the ground, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. His beautiful features lay utterly calm, and I reached out to take his hand—deciding against it at the last moment. I didn’t know how long he was awake last night—let him sleep.

I smiled a bit as warmth tightened in my chest. Warmth, and embarrassment at needing to be helped _again._

My eyes trailed back around the room, and I rose slowly to walk away from him. I’d gone through and tidied this space up so many times, yet it still felt different—as though I were looking at it through another set of eyes. Ones that weren’t looking for something to clean. Instead, they were seeing traces of Loki just about everywhere. His books were perfectly aligned, furniture carved and aligned in a way that allowed the perfect amount of natural light to pour over his bed—where he often sat to read. Where I’d slept last night. 

I sat back on the edge of the mattress, sliding my feet under the blanket as I smiled—enjoying it just a bit longer. Loki slept here every night, which must have explained his seemingly perpetual _glow_. He had to be so well-rested.

“Aila?” I flinched at the sound of my voice, seeing Loki rising slowly from the couch. 

The flurry of movement almost roused a giggle as he rubbed his brow, stood from the couch, and stumbled into the table all in one go. He appeared almost as though he were drunk, as he approached me. I smiled up at him as he sank onto the mattress by my feet, rubbing the sleep away from his reddened eyes.

I reached out to take his hand, but he moved it away. I frowned a bit…Had he done that on purpose? “Loki, I’m-”

“Don’t,” he shook his head, “Don’t say you’re sorry.”

“I was going to say that I’m confused, but glad to see you,” an apologetic grin tugged on my lip, “And then I was going to say that I’m sorry. Or ask for an explanation, maybe—I really don’t remember anything at all after…” I paused. “Well, I suppose you know…” 

Loki nodded slightly, staring down at the ground tiredly. “You needed a healer after...what transpired. And then you needed a place to rest,” he explained dryly, and a bit more sullenly than I would have anticipated.

I nodded. “Well, I’m grateful—you could’ve brought me back to the catacombs, and-”

“You know damn well I couldn’t have done that,” he interjected a bit tersely, and I frowned. Less at his tone, and more at the tire in his eyes.

It struck me then, how _exhausted_ he looked, and it was because of me. The thought alone sent a wave of guilt sweeping through me. As kind as the morning was to me, clearly it was the prelude to a difficult day for Loki—after what appeared to be a very sleepless night. 

“Okay,” I murmured. “Well, I don’t remember what happened last night…”

“You were punished severely for a confrontation with one of the servants,” he said. I remembered that part all too well. “Though I don’t know what possessed you to do such a foolish thing.” 

I pressed my lips together. “It happened so quickly, I didn’t even realize what I’d done until it was over.”

“Well now, that doesn’t matter anyway, does it?” he murmured, shaking his head. “None of it does. And I-I can’t say I’m angry with you.” 

“Really?” I answered incredulously. “It sure seems you’re feeling _something_ to that effect right about now…” 

He paused for a moment, pointedly avoiding my gaze. “It’s not what I’m feeling, but what I know that matters.”

“And what do you know?”

He blinked a few more times, eyes narrowing with a heavy thought. “I know that you cannot continue in my employment.”

My throat tightened. “… _What?_ ”

Loki exhaled through his nostrils, poised as ever, with a momentary show of frustration as he ran his hand through his hair, and then looked back at me—wearing a mask of neutrality. A mask of calm, if not disappointment. Nothing like what I’d seen from him just two nights ago. There was none of the care and softness he’d looked upon me with—none of the lidded heaviness and desire in his eyes, when his mouth was slated and writhing over mine. There was nothing but ice.

“This is your notice, Aila,” he said. “You will not be continuing in this position. My protection will extend to you through the rest of your days, I will make sure that the guards are aware of that. But at the turn of each day, whatever misfortune that has befallen you has been because of this arrangement—so I am terminating it.”

“ _No,_ ” I shook my head, and tension flickered through his jaw as he blinked away. “I don’t want you to—I don’t _need_ you to.” 

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in the matter.” He answered dryly as he stood, facing away from me for a moment. “You’re welcome to stay here for the day, as long as you wish. You may continue your practices with the seidr as you see fit, and ask me questions in private when they arise. But starting tomorrow, you are dismissed from your duties to me.”

“ _No,_ Loki, I—” I reached for his hand, but he tugged it away the moment my fingertips brushed his. “The other night, we…we… _”_

He tensed, and then looked back at me, sporting an unsettling calmness. “We shared a momentary lapse of judgement,” he said pointedly. “I am a Prince of Asgard, and you are a slave. Beyond this day, you would do well not to think of it again.” 

Tears filled my eyes as I watched him stalk across the room, taking one of the long overcoats off one of the couches and throwing it over him. Suddenly the bed was far less comfortable. The soreness had returned with full strength, as did the headaches. And when he disappeared around the threshold of the door, the thud of its close echoed through the empty chamber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betchya didn't see that coming. This chapter was difficult to write, I really don't like imagining any of my characters in excruciating pain. Or any characters in any story in general, not even the bad ones. It really takes a toll on me. Astrid's vile scheme was also rough, I felt gross just typing it out-but knowing I felt gross, I imagined how Aila felt. I would've snapped too.
> 
> Anywho, thank you all for reading and commenting. This chapter was on the heavier side, but I hope it gave you the feels all the same. :)


	10. Feather of a Reminder

I avoided eye contact with Loki in the weeks that followed my dismissal. 

Hel, I treated the Prince as though he were a total stranger. At first, it was difficult—anger and guilt had warred within me for the first week, but forced apathy set in a time later. With careful rationalization, I embedded within myself that this was a stark reminder of where we stood—as Loki had put it—that he was a Prince of Asgard, and I was a slave. Nothing more.

Though of course, that didn’t leave me a bitter fool. I understood why Loki did what he did. Driving me away from the would-be source of all the ‘misfortunes’ that had befallen me, as he put it.

“ _Ask me questions when they arise…”_ he’d offered the last time we spoke. True enough, I continued on with my practices with the seidr, but I didn’t bother him with questions. In truth, I had no desire to speak to him at all. There wasn’t a single thing that I could think of to be exchanged between us, that would remedy what happened. The onset of intense sadness was also telling—I hadn’t realized just how much I’d grown to care for the Prince until that day, when I faced the reality of being expelled from his presence. I hadn’t cried harder than I did that first night.

One thing he had accomplished, at the very least, was that his promise of protection had created ripples throughout the period that followed. Among the guards, at least, I’d seen it out of the corner of my eye—one stopping the other stepping toward me when I dropped a heavy crate. It did not preclude me from harsh punishments, but minor things were now forgiven. It was a small piece of the burden removed, at the very least.

Loki’s protection at work.

My distancing from the royal family also did me some kind of a favor at least, as it’d become marginally less difficult to avoid Astrid like the plague. 

_Marginally._

I simply didn’t travel in the same circles anymore. Though on nights like this, it was difficult to gauge who I would and wouldn’t encounter. 

Three of Asgard’s central families had reserved a night in the palace—a categorically small number, but their members managed to fill the entirety of the second largest banquet room in the palace. It was neither an extravagant event nor a modest one, due to the fact that the royal family was not formally obligated to attend, so a number of slaves were assigned to work the event itself.

The evening cemented a suspicion that had begun to rise in the time that passed.That Davos and I—among some of the other younger slaves—were carefully selected by pleasing appearance alone. We were the approximate height, figure, and age of most of party-goers these days, as were the other servants. It was a strange system to my mind, and if proven correct, had me wondering what would become of me when I finally aged—many, many hundreds of years from now.

I sighed as I looked down at the food tray in my hands.

To spend _hundreds_ of years in this state…carrying food I could never touch, to serve someone I had no obligation to—it wasn’t a life I’d wish on anyone. Never mind the fact that I now had some protections over the other slaves, I still wouldn’t want this for a single living soul.

Just as I set the tray down onto the counter, a slew of laughing voices drew my attention to the right, toward the doorways. Thor and his entourage scampered in with a number of the noble ladies, with Loki mingling among them. My eyes lingered on him for a time, observing his classically polite smile as he listened to whatever the woman beside him was saying. Jealousy threatened to rise, but I swallowed it down as I turned away—ignoring the sound of laughter emanating from Loki’s direction, which may or may not have come from the woman.

 _Damn…_ I sighed, shaking my head a bit. ‘ _Prince’ Loki’s direction._ There could be no familiarity between us anymore—though this was most difficult to remember.

I managed to see just where the _Prince_ sat with his companions, with the woman beside him. A familiar voice suddenly registered to my left, and I nearly froze up a bit as Astrid walked by with the Head Maid—a look of intentness and concentration donning her features as she nodded. My chest eased as she passed.

Seemed everyone was quite busy at the event. Too busy to notice me—which was a good thing. It was better to go unnoticed.

I kept my eyes glued to the marble floors for the rest of the night, reminding myself not to look in the Prince’s direction. Pointedly _insisting_ that I resist the urge to see if he’d been looking in my direction. This was the smart thing to do, to my mind—the wise thing. Slave or not, he hadn’t attempted to converse with me these past few weeks. Even as a benign friend, he hadn’t approached me. He was the only sense of safety and familiarity I’d ever felt here at the palace—save for my mother—and even the glance I’d spared at the start of the evening kindled a bit of the sadness I’d worked hard to bury.

So I kept my head down, and went about my duties for the rest of the night—avoiding Astrid all throughout, as well. After several hours of wearing my feet down in my terrible shoes, there was one last round of refreshing the tables, and it would be over.

Toward the end, I finally spared a glance in the Prince’s direction, just in time to see his group standing to leave. There was a grin growing steadily on his features as the woman quickly explained one last thing—eyes wide with intentness—while all the while, he fiddled with the full goblet he kept in his hand.

Some part of me thought that his gaze might sweep up at me dramatically as he left. Not so. As always, reality set in, and he left the banquet room without a single glance. And it was quite late by the time the rest of us had emptied the space. All the quiet muttering had gone, and only the sounds of the few remaining footsteps were left.

“Aila,” Davos said as he walked by me, taking my arm to stop me mid-stride. “I must help bring some of the tables down back to the lower corridors, but I will meet you back here before you leave.”

“Alright,” I nodded, a thankful grin touching my lips. He knew I didn’t like walking alone these days. “I’ll wait for you.”

Davos gave me a warm smile, and a gentle squeeze before heading off. After the furniture had been moved back to its previous arrangement, there wasn’t much left to do—I glanced at the time worriedly, noting that Davos hadn’t returned yet. Even as the hall grew silent and empty, I waited as long as I could before the discomfort set in. Something had to have kept him, perhaps they needed to move the tables somewhere else? They were quite heavy, after all.

I knew the path to the lower corridors, and despite the anxiety coiling in my abdomen, it still seemed the more attractive option to venture there, instead of staying here all alone— _with the servants._

A breath of relief poured out of me as I left the hall, once I was sure that Astrid was nowhere in sight. Down the hall and further down a spiraling staircase, remnants of laughter and loud merriment echoed occasionally through the brisk, nighttime air. Sleep was starting to sweep over me, and I briefly considered returning to the catacombs alone.

Movement at the bottom of the stairs caught my eye to the right—where I was due to walk—and my blood froze at Astrid stalking back toward the stairway with her notepad in hand. With stark concentration, she scribbled something furiously as I glanced around the corridor. I could bolt for the courtyard just on the other side of the arches, or I could turn back. Both would surely catch her attention.

I lowered my hands and eyes down, clamping my wrists before me as I strode around her, leaving ample room to seem inconspicuous. I’d just been prepared to exhale relaxedly, when I heard a frustrated gasp, and a flutter of movement behind me.

“Aila?” I heard her say my name—albeit, it was comparably less hostile than usual.

That didn’t stop my blood from freezing, and the rest of my body with it. 

Schooling my features into a calm expression, I turned slowly, keeping my eyes on the ground. We stood there for moment, Astrid keeping one foot up on the stairs I’d just descended from. The coolness of the night suddenly seemed freezing, and the pale, blue ambiance streaming over us only added to it.

“Well,” she murmured coolly as she slid her foot off the step. “You must be looking for your friend.” 

I stared at the ground perturbedly as she sauntered toward me, stopping at the echo of laughter coming from somewhere nearby. A cold wind blew over us both, lifting my hair off my shoulders as I watched it billow her skirt. My brows creased together as I stared down at it, suddenly wondering what Astrid truly was capable of. If not by me, then what of the other slaves—and what of her own, the servants?

“Yes, I’m looking for him,” I breathed out.

She nodded. “And does the Prince know of your whereabouts this evening?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Do you know of his?”

Again, I shook it. 

She paused, and then mumbled something darkly as she looked away. For a moment, I wasn’t sure whether to walk away, or continue standing there. Only when she tilted her head in my direction, did I suddenly wish that I had gone when I had the chance.

“I’ve been wondering what they did to you, you know,” her voice lilted with an unsettlingly sincere curiosity, and my eyes flickered up toward her. “The day the Prince left you—what was it, exactly, that drove him to that?”

I paused, wondering why she’d suddenly asked. “I was beaten.”

“And the method of punishment?”

I pressed my lips together anxiously. “Hooks.”

Astrid stared at me, brows rising incredulously. “ _Right…_ ” she sighed—disappointedly. I let out a quiet, disbelieving scoff—one I was sure that only I could hear, until her head snapped toward the sound. “What?”

I stood in place for a moment, and finally shook my head, letting the confusion amass in my head.

“I-I don’t understand this…” I murmured, gathering the courage to reason with her gently—perhaps once and for all. “I don’t understand your hatred. I’ve done nothing to you.”

“Yes—of course you’d think so,” she said darkly, and stepped toward me.

“How can you not see that _?”_ I asked earnestly. “Why have this war—” 

“This was to be a war from the start.”

“ _Why?_ ”

She paused with a smirk. “You take far too much credit for your own importance.”

“W-What?” I narrowed my eyes for a moment, before the realization dawned on me. _Too much credit for my own importance…_ “If all this has been about the Prince _,_ I haven’t even spoken to him in _weeks._ You’ve got what you wanted _—_ ” I breathed out, stepping back as she stepped toward me.

“Yes, but he favors you, doesn’t he?” I stumbled against one of the arches as she closed in. “And for all the things it’s caused…” she scoffed. “You just wouldn’t believe it. Do you _know_ what happens when a Head Maid is demoted, Aila? She can never ascend to that position—or any like it—ever again. Such a small, insignificant little thing you are, and yet, just look at the damage you’ve caused _.”_

 _“_ You think it’s all _my_ fault?” I ground out, feeling emboldened by the truth coming to light. Woman to woman, I rose my eyes and glared up at her. “You have no responsibility in what’s happened to you?”

“Not as much as you do _._ ” It was in that moment, when I’d finally looked her in the eyes, that I realized just how blue they were. How unsettlingly large, as she stood there towering over me, and stared. “I’m not the slave that made eyes at him.”

I couldn’t tell where the courage had come from, to sneer at her with an incredulous stare. “…but you are a _coward._ ”

In a flash of wide-eyed anger, her hand flew to my cheek, striking me to the side. “ _How dare you?”_ she growled lowly. Before I could gather myself, her other hand gripped my throat, and she pushed me back against the arch.

Astrid was older, taller, and _Asgardian_ —never mind being better nourished than I was. Whatever I was, whatever my mother was, the combination of factors proved fruitless in that moment—no matter how I grappled her arm, my natural strength couldn’t overcome hers.

She shoved me downward with impossible strength, and my throat began to hurt within seconds—my lungs burning for precious air. Stars suddenly littered my vision, and I realized I was close to unconsciousness, or death. The seidr rose weakly, but I couldn’t gather it quickly enough to stay the asphyxiation.

Her eyes widened suddenly, and hand loosened as an unseen force blew her against the opposite wall.

In an instant, we both fell to the ground on opposite sides of the corridor. I was unable to cough, and barely able to breath. My eyes watered as I stared at the textured floor, while a pair of boots shuffled in my direction, still trying to _breathe_. I rolled over and looked up at the figure strolling toward us, empty goblet hanging in his hand.

Emerald eyes dropped down to mine as the Prince kneeled beside me. He kept his gaze on me steadily on the way down, flicking his wrist in Astrid’s direction. In the corner of my eye, I saw her fly up against the wall again, and the same hand lowered down to me, sliding over my aching throat—which no longer permitted the flow of air. Warmth poured into me from his skin, the softness of his touch ridding me of the pain as sweet, sweet air sucked into my lungs once more.

His thumb brushed over my jaw once before he stood. My chest heaved as I rolled over, scrambling onto my elbows as he sauntered leisurely toward Astrid—still pinned against the wall. Loki’s free hand tucked behind his back, and he raised the goblet up before him, as though admiring it.

His demeanor was…terrifying. The very air around him was hot, and I scrambled to my knees, and slowly my feet—grabbing onto the archways for support.

“Leave us,” he muttered darkly.

I looked between him and Astrid—still grappling with the invisible force that held her in place. “Loki, I—”

“ _Leave.”_

I stared at him for a moment, before shuffling away slowly. Step by step, I made my way down the hall, tremors still haunting my limbs, and turned back once to see his face—utterly calm as he stared at Astrid. With his expression embedded in my thoughts, I wandered around the hallways for some time, until a familiar voice brought me out of them—and a familiar face, to match, both looking and sounding as though they’d run some distance to get here.

  
Davos. Begging my forgiveness—from what I caught of the words tumbling from his mouth. ‘ _Are you alright?’_ I heard him say.

I swayed uneasily, before finally managing to look up at him. “I—I need to sit…”

 

 

***

 

 

Once Aila had disappeared down the hallway, Loki stared at the woman still struggling against the magic holding her in place. He turned strolled over to one of the arches, and set his goblet down on a flat spot before releasing her, listening as she dropped to the ground. Loki turned, arching a brow at her terrified expression, and leaned against once of the arches—letting out a hefty sigh.

“I’ll admit, you’ve impressed me.” Astrid’s eyes narrowed up at him from the ground. “You’d be murdered on the spot if you ever attempted to harm me directly,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. “So you pursued a less _consequential_ vulnerability.” 

_“I-I would never hurt you, my Prince—”_

“Of course you wouldn’t,” he interjected calmly. “Though it hardly matters what you would or would not attempt with me. There’s another matter at work here, to be rectified”

His gaze hardened at the woman, and she froze the moment she noticed it, eyes widening with fear. All movement ceased.

“ _For if you ever raise your hand at Aila again,_ ” he spoke, his baritone voice humming to life with the magic of a curse. “ _Or attempt to do her harm, you will be fraught with any pain you cause. After its onset, it will never cease. Every hook, burn, and fall you inflict—you yourself will endure.”_

Astrid stared at him for moments more from the ground, lips parting and closing as she waited for something to happen. Loki pinpointed exactly when she felt it—the twinge of pain in her throat. He rose from the arch slowly, turning to trail off in Aila’s direction as the woman swallowed thickly, raising a hand up to her throat. The last thing he heard was a muffled cough before disappearing around the corner.  
  
The threat would be a lasting one.

Loki only planned to follow after Aila a bit, and give up if the effort proved in vain. Though that minute effort was all it took to find her, as he rounded a corner and spotted her on a lonely bench in the nearby corridor. He quickly hid behind the corner, eyes narrowing at the sight of the second figure sitting beside her, resting his hand on her knee. Being this far down in the Palace, at time of night, they must have known that there would be no one around to apprehend them—Loki certainly wasn’t going to do it immediately.

 _“I need to tell you something.”_ With his advanced hearing, he heard Aila mutter to the man—her tone strange, as though filled with guilt. Before Loki could even guess at what she meant, Aila took the man’s hand, and little golden sparks emanated subtly between her fingers.

An intimate secret, revealed.

He shook her hand off immediately, and Loki felt his lips turn downward with an unpleasant bitterness. _“W-What is that??”_ he asked frantically after a moment of staring.

_“This is my seidr.”_

The man looked at her, and the air filled with silence for a moment.

_“S-Seidr—but how…!?”_

_“Mother taught me before she died. She spent a lot of time at it, because…”_ Aila paused. _“Davos, she wanted us to escape Asgard one day.”_

Loki felt his stomach drop. As did the man, seemingly, as he looked between her hand and her face several times before she continued.

_“I don’t know how, or when… But if I could do it, I could go… Or ‘we’ could….”_

_“You want to go together?”_ he said it for her. _“Leave Asgard, somehow?”_

A quiet wind permeated the air.

 _“There’s nothing left for me here, except you,”_ Aila finally whispered, voice trembling with an onslaught of tears, and Loki stared down at the ground as he listened—feeling the frown deepen painfully in his expression, clenched fists loosening at his side. _“I don’t want to go alone, and I don’t want to leave you here…”_

 _“Of course I’ll go,”_ the man stuttered earnestly. _“If you think it’s possible, of course I will go… I’ll go anywhere—with you especially, Aila.”_

 _“I just can’t stay here—there’s pain everywhere I look, Davos,”_ she wept quietly, and tension flickered in Loki’s brows as his chest tightened. So, that was his name _._

 _“If you find us a way, we will go—together,”_ he answered, and by the scuffling of fabric, Loki gathered that the man stood. “ _Don’t think twice on it, you won’t go anywhere alone.”_

Glancing around the corner, he saw that Davos stood and took Aila by the arm, raising her up. A glimmer of uncertainty passed over her features when he stepped in, and his hands appeared on either side of her neck—but she stared up at him all the same.

She nearly shook her head as she spoke, _“Davos, I-I’m in—”_

He stepped in without letting her finish, slating his lips over hers. For a brief instant, Loki stopped breathing as he watched him kiss her, heard the sounds of their lips moving together…

Nausea rose when she wrapped her arms around him. And like watching a wreckage, he couldn’t look away, until he absolutely forced the movement with every fiber of his will—swinging an arm out behind him, to magically conjure the sound of heavy footsteps nearing the corner.

As they neared, Loki straightened his expression stepped into them, revealing himself to the now-parted couple in the hallway.

He strode toward them at a leisurely pace, schooling his features in a mask of icy calm, with his hands clamped behind his back. “Aila,” he muttered neutrally as he approached, and nodded toward the man—before realizing that his eyes were at the ground. He looked back at Aila instead, throat tightening a bit. “Are you alright?”

It took her a moment to nod briskly. “Yes—yes I’m alright…”

“That woman won’t be bothering you again.” 

“What did you do?”

“I protected you.” The words slipped out—albeit serenely—before Loki could fully considering how they sounded. Before he could try to see past the vile bitterness pressing him to assert himself over this other man’s influence. With the briefest flicker of movement, Loki saw Davos furrow a brow slightly, and a sliver of satisfaction fluttered through him. “I believe I kept my word to you tonight.”

Aila looked between them nodded slightly, averting her gaze to Davos as well. “We should go…” 

“Indeed,” Loki agreed, meeting her brown eyes once more, and subdued the fluttering impulse that swept across his chest.

This was the closest they’d been in weeks, after all. And he couldn’t recall the last time he’d caught her looking back at him like this. He’d missed her terribly, having grown so fond of her over the few brief months she’d spent with him—though that hardly negated his reasons for letting her go. One evil had been dealt with, but what of the others? Was it even a possibility to have them dealt with, so they may resume their prior arrangement?

_Certainly not, if she successfully escaped Asgard._

“Good night, my Prince,” Aila murmured lowly, snapping Loki’s attention back to her. He briefly wondered if Davos had also heard the gentility in her voice, the calming softness—by the way his hands were gathered in loose fists, perhaps he had.

An unamused grin tugged on the corner of his lip. “ _Always yours,_ ” he muttered flatly before turning away from the two of them, catching a final glimpse of how Aila blinked surprisedly at the remark. Instead of opting for the corridor, however, Loki stepped toward the arches that stretched across all the lowest levels of the palace. And in a flash of green, he stepped into another form—leaving raven feathers behind as he disappeared against the black sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh, I am 0% certain that this chapter played out the way it did my head. Usually I try to hide my rationalizations for why characters behave/think/feel/perceive the way they do, but I think it came across more than usual in this chapter. Sorry if that got a bit boring...
> 
> Also, something that really touched my heart: one of you mentioned (and a few of you alluded to) Aila and Loki's happy ending--or worry about how this story would lead them to it. As a writer, it's my obligation to you, the reader, to ALWAYS deliver a whirlwind of an adventurous story, a ton of feels, and a fulfilling ending. This is a sacred bond of trust between writer and reader that I vow to never abuse. (*coughgameofthronescough*) I already know how this story will end, so don't you worry. :)
> 
> Oki doki. Til next time, darlings. Sorry I was a bit slow with responses last week, but I really appreciate everyone's support. :) Til next time!


	11. A Devilish Plot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry about the re-upload! Spotted a structural error, had to update it. :)

"If she finds a way, you can't ask her to stay here," Frigga said, glaring across the table at her son.

It was a fine Sunday afternoon, and Loki wished she'd paid more attention to the city view off the edge of the garden courtyard. Rather than expend her energy wearing his resolve down.

"I didn't tell you this to have you change my mind, mother."

"You would rather have her stay in a place where she is abused and deprived for the entirety of her life, and for what?" She straightened up against her ornate chair, the fluttering leaves of the canopy casting dancing shadows across her face. "Tell me that much, Loki—what can you possibly offer?"

Loki considered it for a moment. "I can offer her protection."

" _Hardly,"_ Frigga said darkly. "I understand that you care for this slave, but your father's power still outweighs your own, whether you like it, or not."

Loki sighed, feeling frustrated with the direction of this conversation. His gaze trailed over the city rooftops, down to the training arena to the far left of the palace. He stared down at it, recalling every instant he'd seen Aila for the past few weeks—watching their training sessions with her friend in the dark. Did they really hope to learn from afar? Was that their plan?It was all strange…Strange the way she watched them. Strange the way her eyes narrowed at their different maneuvers.

"She has become a dear friend to me," he said calmly. "Nothing more. I merely thought you would tend to this matter better than I."

"You thought wrong, Loki. I will convince her of no such thing when she arrives." Frigga jabbed a finger in his direction. "And shame on you for trying to force me into a corner like this."

"I didn't _force_ you to do anything, mother."

"Why else would you have her come up to this—"

Just then, there was the sound of a clearing throat appeared behind them. A guard had arrived.

The queen sat back with a look of annoyance and looked out into the city, while Loki turned toward the guard that had appeared.

"She is here," he announced.

Loki gave the guard a nod—feeling something of a knot tightening in his stomach—and kept a mask of icy calm as the young woman appeared moments later, approaching them both. Her hair had gotten slightly longer over the past few weeks, tumbling over her shoulders in loose waves. Frigga turned and looked at the girl, a glimmer of pity tensing in the corners of her upturned grin.

"Aila," Loki said steadily, and her cool, composed eyes flickered toward his boots, while a subtle wind brushed her hair against her neutral features. It was then that he noticed how her hands were locked before her, thumbs brushing against each other nervously.

Aila nodded. "My Prince… My Queen."

Loki heard Frigga sigh quietly beside him—by the flicker of movement, Aila clearly noticed it as well.

He nodded toward the chair to his left at the table. "Sit."

Aila didn't move at first, looking uncomfortable for a time, but finally obeyed.

Loki sat back, leaving his tea utterly untouched and growing cold. "How are you feeling?" he asked nonchalantly as she sat.

Aila's brows pinched, and she looked up at him. "I'm good, My Prince. Thank you."

"How have you been faring these past few weeks?" he asked as he reached forward for his tea, and suppressed a grimace at discovering it was utterly cool.

Frigga's expression hardened on the other side of the table, and it was only then that Loki realized just how uncomfortable Aila truly appeared—sitting just on the edge of the chair, as though she didn't want to be there.

With a subtle eye roll, the Queen leaned forward to assuage the obvious apprehension. "You may speak freely in front of us, my dear. And there's no need to lower your eyes in our company. We're all friends here."

Aila's eyes jumped up to her incredulously, and Loki watched as his mother offered a kind, pitying grin. To which, Aila shifted a bit deeper into the chair, and her graceful lips quirked upward. No one spoke for a moment—only then did Loki realize that he had no other plan, since having his mother dissuade her in some thinly veiled fashion failed.

"I heard you came to retrieve me that night with the Prince, my Queen…" Aila finally murmured, and Frigga quickly permitted her the usage of her name in private company. A grateful sadness crept into the corners of Aila's eyes. "I'm very thankful, Queen Frigga—I've been recovering steadily since that night."

"I'm afraid I wasn't able to stay very long after we arrived," Frigga glanced at Loki, "It was….quite something to behold, if you understand me."

"I do. I wouldn't have wanted you to see that," she said lowly. "…Or anyone at that."

"If my son hadn't seen it, you would have died," Frigga arched a brow as she sat back, and waved her hand over her teacup—warming it. Aila's eyes fell toward the motion, then up at Loki, and back to his mother.

"Your son's paid me more kindnesses than I am due."

Frigga's brows shot up entirely as she sipped her tea. "I've gathered that he has, though I would not call them undue."

"Others don't see it the way you do."

"All matters pertaining to the slaves, you mean—yes," she sighed. "Unfortunately, the Alfather's reach stretches far in many modes…"

"I can't say that that's alright," Aila mumbled. "I can only speak for myself, and I've been far better cared for than the others."

 _The others._ An idea sprang to life.

"Enough to help us rally against Odin's laws?" Loki said calmly, as though he'd been waiting on the opportunity. "That the possession of slaves in this fashion is an impermissible act?"

Both Aila and the Queen looked up at him—one with a quizzical brow, and the other gravely suspicious.

"I don't understand," Aila shook her head.

The idea hatched further—but Loki kept his composure, continuing coolly through the conversation. "Does this interest you?"

"Well of course, but… how?"

He threw a glance over to the city roofs, buying himself a few vital seconds to concoct the plot. "We're at the cusp of peace in all the nine realms. Asgardians are living in other realms, protected by Asgard's laws in tandem with the others.' If others were to learn of the full state of their imprisoned on Asgard, it could rouse unrest in the more patriotic realms."

Aila's eyes were narrowed, studying him carefully as she considered the implications—not that she could predict them, of course. Even Loki had had years of schooling to prepare him for this half-assed ruse… and even so, he had _no_ idea if this could really work.

"You think it would work?" she asked.

"Yes." _Maybe._

"How would we do it?"

 _And now, we've come to it._ "There will be one last influx of slaves—I could pose as one of them, come spend time in the catacombs," he looked at Aila. "With an ally beside me, I could then cross-reference the imposed treatments with laws from other realms. If any bit of what's happening here conflicts with other realms, I shall find it. And that, alone, might pose a threat to the Alfather's peace of mind. Perhaps lead to something that will push us further in the endeavor, than where we stand today."

Frigga's jaw dropped in shock and confusion. Loki grinned inwardly—knowing he was very well spoken, indeed.

And, besides… Given that the royal family had never actually spent time in the catacombs, it was entirely possible that he _would_ find something. It _could_ work.

And, perhaps, it would give Aila a reason to stay her decision.

His eyes flickered toward her with the thought, and his breath slowed at the sight of her staring back. It was in that moment that he realized why he'd wanted all of this _—_ he'd missed her. He'd missed her terribly.

It was the only explanation, albeit a harmless one—he'd kissed her that night in the woods simply because he'd wanted to. Because it was sweet and pleasurable. The only woman in all of Asgard whose company he actually favored and enjoyed, now wanted to leave? There had to be other options. Even if she was a slave—a circumstance which, perhaps, could be rectified. And then… Maybe then they could talk freely. Walk the grounds freely. Enjoy time in the library—freely.

"You don't know what you're suggesting," Aila murmured darkly. "To spend time in the catacombs, is… it's not easy."

"You've done it, haven't you?" Loki mused. "With your guidance, I'm sure we'd drive the operation to its fullest success, whatever that may yield."

His mother stared at him blankly—it was becoming rather amusing.

"A-Alright…" Aila murmured finally. "We can try."

_Yes._

Regardless of whether he knew what he was getting into, a wave of satisfaction barreled through Loki. It may not have been a long term solution, but it bought him time.

And perhaps, a chance.

* * *

It took some time before Loki's plan could go into effect. Weeks, even, before the final round of slaves were brought to Asgard. Prisoners of war, criminals who had undergone their trials…and Loki.

Except, he was not Loki…

I nearly gaped at the tall, willowy woman that stepped off the caravan in the late evening, by the wooded entrance to the catacombs. She was beautiful, but distinctly Loki—I could see it clearly. The curve of his jaw, the curl of his hair, the green of his eyes… He'd done just enough to ensure that no one else would—or did—recognize him, but I did. Almost immediately. Though even so, I still wasn't convinced that this plan would be a success…

"Aila," he quietly crooned my name in a feminine voice, with a smoothness highly characteristic of his true tone. "You look shocked."

"Was this part of your plan?" I whispered earnestly.

"Of course," he answered. "How else would we manage?"

Right. I was to be his ally, to guide him and ensure that he didn't do anything unusually stupid—especially in this form. Though it may be even more problematic than he had anticipated.

I glanced over at the guards, then back at Loki. Only to find him staring down at me with beautiful green eyes that left me stupefied for a moment. Knowing it was Loki behind those feminine eyes stirred something in me, and the redness that inadvertently rose to my cheeks made this the strangest moment of my life.

" _I, um…_ You will need to stay close to me if you're sticking to that form."

"Naturally."

"What am I to call you?"

"Lydia."

"Lydia. Alright." A steady breath escaped me. "Okay… Let's go then, follow me."

The tunnel that led back past the outer gate and into the catacombs was relatively spacious—though even then, I felt breathless the entire way back. Even after the initial shock had set in, my head still pounded from the knowledge of who I was harboring. Whose safety I was responsible for, in part. All while he gandered about the catacombs, watching and observing—looking for things I couldn't hope to guess at. But he was ever the observant Prince…

When I looked over my shoulder at him, it seemed he was already at work. Or perhaps he was regretting the plan already, as he looked around at the beds lining the halls. We would have to find one for him, or make one somehow. The guards had only counted the number of slaves that had arrived—I'd watched them set the beds—not those who arrived in the catacombs. This was a problem.

"Quit your worrying," Lydia whispered beside me as I turned my head back, and strode ahead. "And, slow down. Everything will be alright."

Gods, my head was hurting. Positively throbbing. "I _really_ hope you know what you're doing…"

"I do."

I stopped, and pivoted sharply just before we entered the hall where I was to be staying—where Davos and the others would greet us. I took Lydia by the arm and pushed her slowly—still trying to handle her delicately, seeing as she was a Prince of Asgard.

"Now listen," I hissed, stopping only when we stood beside the towering, cavernous wall. Torchlights flickered against Lydia's distinct features. "You say nothing, do nothing, and draw no attention to yourself. I counted the beds today, and there are none left here. I may find you one in the lower halls, when the guards leave." Her face was unreadable—perfectly still as she listened, without blinking, and stoic in the orange glow. "In the morning, I will come and find you, and go about the day with you. You do _nothing_ without me, do you understand?"

Lydia stared at me for a moment, and then narrowed her emerald eyes with a matching smile. " _Aila…_ " she crooned.

"What?"

"Are you _that_ concerned about me?"

"Of course I am."

Lydia's smile faltered a bit, and she blinked down to my lips. I couldn't look at her. I inhaled sharply, jerking my hands out to my side as I felt my cheeks turn red again. " _Gods help me…_ " I whispered as I turned.

"I _am_ here to help you," she said amusedly, but I didn't look back at her.

"Come on, let's go…"

Lydia followed me out to the hall where I was to stay, where Davos and Dina and Eros were sitting around one of the small fire pits.

"Aila," Davos stood, and Dina gave me a friendly smile over her shoulder—looking twice at the sight of Lydia just behind me. I was nearly prompted to tell Davos to refrain from kissing me, but that might have drawn undue attention, so I let it be as he looked over my shoulder. "Who is this?"

Finally glancing back, I was relieved—and even a bit impressed—at the genuine fear and devastation etched across Lydia's features. Head to toe. "This is Lydia," I said, and her green eyes fell toward me graciously—as though I really _had_ just brought in a slave from another land. "She just arrived with a few of the others, from Niflheim."

" _Niflheim?"_ Davos' brows shot up.

Behind me, Lydia merely stared up at him sadly— _Gods,_ he was good at this.

Dina stood, leaving her declared by the fire with the small bit of bread he'd had when we arrived. They'd been sharing it, judging by the second half he held in his hand. "When did you arrive, darling?" she asked kindly.

"Not a day ago," Lydia answered demurely—while I stood mesmerized by the performance.

"Aila, did you just bring her back from the western gate?"

The sound of my name snapped me back slightly. "Yes—Yes, although I'd seen her at the docks yesterday evening." A likely story, seeing as I had purposefully volunteered to go out there for an errand on behalf of one of the servants. "I think she may have to stay in one of the upper halls, there're no more beds here. I'll take her there when the guards are gone."

"You don't want to do that," Davos said. I stared at him for a moment.

"Why not?"

He seemed a bit uncomfortable to tell me what came next. "Do you remember the last time they brought in a new group?"

Damn. I'd forgotten about that. "That was different, they only abused those prisoners because they were-"

"They were from Svartalfheim, I know." Davos shrugged. "I'm only warning you, be careful. Niflheim isn't much better."

"Can we find her a place to sleep here, then?"

"We must."

Dina nodded in agreement as she sat back down. "And we will darling, but let's finish eating first. If I move any more without a bit of sugar in my blood, I'll pass out…"

"Here," said Eros—ever the quiet one, even before their marriage—as he held out the bread for her.

"Join us," Davos offered to Lydia. "You must be tired."

"I am," Lydia nodded.

It was a bit uncomfortable to situate ourselves around the pit—and no matter how much magic there was covering up his appearance, there was no mistaking the hint of disdain in Lydia's eye

each time she looked in mine and Davos' direction. It almost made no sense to me, until I remembered the night in the mountain—how could he not feel something, after that?

' _Do not think of it again,'_ he'd told me.

_Sure._

Though when it came to it, the Prince set aside his emotions magnificently. The tale he'd spun about his previous life, his misery in the war, and all the events that followed him here was well thought out. If I hadn't known any better, I would have believed him myself. Instead, I spent the majority of the conversation staring down at the dried piece of meat in my hands, and the dusty piece of stale bread that had obviously fallen to the ground at some point.

"You're dozing off, aren't you?" Davos' voice suddenly drew my attention from the flames.

"What?" I wasn't dozing off in the slightest—concentrating, if nothing else. I still had to find a way to ensure the Prince's safety while he stayed here. Regardless of whether he truly needed my help… I had to give it.

"They're dimming the lights," Dina pointed out. "Perhaps we ought to find a place for Lydia to sleep."

'Lydia' gave her an earnest, thankful grin.

"We should," I nodded as I stood, suddenly realizing that all my concentration had resulted from the anxiety coiling in my chest. "But I don't even know where to start."

"Go look in the other corners, perhaps we can pull something together."

"Right," I cocked my head toward Lydia. "You should come with me. We can figure out what your backside will tolerate."

"Of course," she mused gratefully as she stood, and sauntered over to my side. "Whatever I can do to help."

I paused, leveling a stare at her—and receiving a quick wink in turn—before turning to saunter away. And there, all along the edges of the walls were hardened sacks of grain, and crates… dread began setting in when we couldn't find anything remotely comfortable.

I frowned. "Damn it…"

Lydia sighed gravely. "I can't sleep on the floor each time I come down here. Can't they just bring me a bed?"

"Go on and try to complain, see what happens to you." I said. "We'll figure something out. I just don't know what to do right now…"

I stared down at the ground for a moment, hands propped on my hips, and listened to the sound of my own breath rising and falling… This was my failure. I should have been more diligent, should've thought ahead about this. I hadn't considered how they'd be counted, or when, or why…

"There is a solution," came Lydia's voice, and I looked at her. The calmness in her expression was unsettling, knowing who was behind that mask. And when she shot me a knowing look, my eyes widened with realization.

 _Oh._ It struck me that the Prince was suggesting we share a bed, and I shook my head. "No."

"Alright," Lydia said, agreeing easily. A glimmer of reproach flashed over her features. "I suppose I'll sit on the ground somewhere, then…"

The way she looked around at the cavernous walls had me wincing on her behalf—so many sharp edges. But, the alternative was… just absolutely…..

 _"_ _Fine_ ," I stepped toward Lydia, lowering my voice intently. "But no matter the form you sleep in, you stay on _your_ half the bed, and leave me at mine."

"Of course."

I paused. "And you _should_ probably sleep like that."

"Understood."

I arched a brow a bit at his… utter agreement. Even appreciated it, a bit. "Okay," I nodded, feeling my cheeks warm at the words that came next, "Let's…go to sleep, then. We've a long day tomorrow."

Even going to bed proved more nerve wracking than I thought, however. Sharing a bed with the Prince. I'd changed back out of my palace apparel in the time that Lydia waited, and I could no longer taper the nervousness, now that we'd come to it.

Lydia stood on the other side of the small bed—gods, it was so small—and I cringed a little as I gestured to it, allowing her to go first. With a quirk of her feminine lip, she laid down on it, taking a sizable share of the already-constrained width. It creaked as I descended onto it as well, facing away as I listened as remnants of conversations drowned out as whispers. The torches had all been dimmed as well, to where there were only a few left to light the enormous hall.

All per usual.

I pointedly faced away from her, and remained unmoving. Every now and again, I heard her long hair brush against the pillow, as though she were looking at me. And each time, it frustrated me.

" _Why aren't you sleeping?_ " I finally whispered as she looked at me again, quiet enough to where the other sleeping slaves were unlikely to hear me.

" _I'm getting there._ "

" _It doesn't sound like it."_

 _"_ _Sorry to hear that."_

 _"_ _You should be."_

 _"_ _I am."_ She suddenly paused, drawing out a long breath. " _I am sorry if this is encumbering for you."_

My shoulders sank a bit as I considered her words, calming a bit. _"I should've planned it better, I suppose…"_

" _We both should have."_

I smirked a little. " _It seems we're both constantly looking to fault ourselves these days._ "

" _This habit extends only to you."_

I smiled, listening to him breathe for a moment. "… _Lydia?_ "

 _"_ _Yes?"_

I stared ahead, trailing my eyes over the dark, textured walls. " _What did you do to Astrid?"_

There was silence for a moment. _"Has she bothered you again?"_

 _"_ _No, she's left me alone."_

 _"_ _Good._ " She paused again. " _Do you really want to know?"_

I nodded against the pillow.

" _I cursed her._ "

My eyes widened. _"Cursed?"_

 _"_ _Yes. I cursed her so that she can no longer harm you, without carrying the pain for the rest of her days."_

A severe punishment…

 _"_ _Why?"_

 _"_ _Why what?"_

 _"_ _Why did you do it?"_

Another pause. _"I promised to take care of you."_

 _"_ _You promised to extend me protection, and you did."_

 _"_ _If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have been hurt like that."_

I squirmed a little at the thought of tiny hooks catching against my skin…

I tried to put it out of my head quickly, knowing what it would do if I didn't. _"Well, if it weren't for me, you'd be sleeping in your own, comfortable bed right now."_

 _"_ _Hardly a comparison."_

 _"_ _It's all I've got—and it's the truth."_

 _"_ _You don't know that."_

A breathy chuckle beat through my chest. _"I think I do."_

More silence. _"Aila,"_ I heard her again.

 _"_ _Yes?"_

 _"_ _You should sleep now."_

I grinned, shifting as comfortably as I could—knowing I'd be stuck on one side for the remainder of the night. And aside from the discomfort, it took time before I even managed to skate the edges of sleep. The edges of a dream. Our conversation circled in my head until it took me—though it hardly abated, even then. And aside from Lydia, the mere reminder of the punishment I'd received had my dreams teeming with nightmares.

It finally roused me abruptly, in the middle of the night, and I gasped sharply—my body shaking as I struggled to see straight. Hooks, blood splattering, pain so intense that it practically burned… I shot up straight in the bed, scrambling a bit whilst taking heavy breaths, bumping into something beside me.

For a moment, I didn't recognize the body that was laying next to me, and was startled when a hand suddenly cupped my damp cheek and tugged me toward a pair of startled eyes—while a distant voice called me away from the panic.

At first I recoiled, but when a sheen of green light spread over the figure, I recalled who it was—Lydia. Except, Loki had now unmasked himself.

"Calm down," he whispered, and my hand flew to his, which still on my cheek. It took a moment for me to realize the noise we'd made, and I gaped around us with horror, seeing the dead of night as quiet and still as it was moments ago. "It's alright," Loki's voice reassured me, "They can neither see, nor hear us at the moment."

I blinked it away—the dream, the panic—and then took a closer look, seeing and _feeling_ the sheen of seidr surrounding us both.

 _"_ _Loki,"_ I gasped, feeling a little lightheaded. _"H-How—"_

"An illusion," he said, and I could vaguely see his eyes darting around my features—could vaguely make out the clothes he'd been wearing. It definitely was not his usual attire, but I could not tell if it was ours either. "What happened?" he asked.

My hand slid off of his. His followed suit, though his hand never left my skin—it merely drifted down to the crook of my neck.

"N-Nothing," I said in a whisper, for good measure. "N-Nightmare."

"I see—I can cast a spell, you'll have no more nightmares," he said, and I could feel his breath on my lip. "Know that you're alright. You're safe."

" _I know…_ " I breathed out, only registering in that moment how I truly meant it. How I knew that right then and there, sitting upright beside Loki, that I was truly safe.

I softened a bit. And he seemed to notice the change in my expression, as his fingers pressed a bit harder against my skin. "Lay down," he instructed, gently pulling me back downward.

Settling back onto the pillow, I stared at him a moment, seeing the distant flickering of the single lit torch in his eyes. Slowly but surely, a familiar tension gripped my chest. Both our breaths—no matter how taut—were now intertwined in the small space left between us, and his hand continued to rest on my neck.

At some point, his thumb had begun tracing soft, soothing circles, but I didn't catch when it started—when did our legs shift close enough to be touching?

I had no idea how long I laid there and stared at his shadowy features—how long he let me do it.

" _Loki,_ " I finally whispered.

 _"_ _Yes?"_

My heart was thrumming loudly in my ribcage, sending wave after wave of affection through my limbs. _"I've missed you so much."_

His breathing paused, and resumed a moment later. All other movements stopped for a time, and the torchlight flickered in his eyes as he studied me. Until finally, he _himself_ began to move. The air in my lungs froze as he slid toward me—slating his entire body over mine. He hovered a few inches above me for a moment, brushing his thumb against my temple, my hair, my cheek, while his eyes grew heavier—and then, he descended on me with slow, unbridled passion.

The more we shifted, writhing together, the harsher our movements became. This wasn't like the night in the woods—there was a growing heat, a growing _need,_ that glowed between us. His sharp breaths fanned my cheeks as my lips grew damp from his kiss, and my hand made its way up to his hair as his tongue caressed mine, his heaviness pressing me down into this pitiful little bed. It left me clawing at his backside for more closeness, while his hands raked with steady pressure down my waist, and up my thigh as I lifted it in tandem with his movements.

I had never felt such alertness coursing through me. Every inch of my skin came alive, my body tensing and loosening as his weight shifted between my legs, his length pressing against me.

_And I… I would do this now._

I _wanted to do this now._

Hel, I'd never wanted anything more—and as my fingers dug into his backside, as his touch grew taut and aggressive, I gasped when a hand dove clean under my shirt, dragging it up my abdomen. And just like that, I knew it was going to happen…. I no longer cared who he was, who I was, what we'd been through or what it cost. My legs hooked around his hips as his callused hand cupped my breast, I could never have imagined this more perfectly.

Until his hand dragged down the length of my torso, and… stopped.

Loki pulled his lips away abruptly, one hand resting on my waist. "W-What…?" I whispered up at him—while he stared at the pillow beside me, instead of my eyes. "What's wrong?"

The slight twitch of his finger answered the question…

_He'd felt the scars._

The remnants of my punishments—reminders of who and what I was.

I'd forgotten about them entirely until now, and an utter sense of dread and horror swept over me. I couldn't tell in this lighting what he felt—fear, repulsion, anxiety—and tears began to rise as the heat melted away, my hands shaking from the sudden cold. I swallowed thickly as his hand disappeared from my skin, and left the underside of my shirt…

For a moment, he rested it on the bed, catching his own breath as the intensity dissipated from his body. Tears rose with a madness, and embarrassment coiled in my stomach. The sharp sigh he let out interrupted my panicked thoughts, and his hand drew to my cheek, while Loki lowered himself down onto me, pressing his forehead against mine.

His voice came out thickly, "Aila…"

"I-I'm sorry—"

Loki's lips covered mine immediately, stopping me mid-sentence, and then he pulled away softly. "Don't you dare apologize."

I couldn't help it.

I began to cry quietly, letting the tears slip through the corners of my eyes as I stared up at him. He only realized it when he heard my sharp, congested inhale, and moved without another word—taking me into his arms. Intertwining with me in this awful place, in this awful little bed…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my dears. I'm so sorry I didn't post last Sunday. Buuuuuut this chapter was one of the first ones I thought of when I came up with this story, and I was super excited to write it! In fact, I thought of it when I was reading a book.
> 
> I'm keeping it short today because my neck hurts like hell (it hurts to be looking down at this), and I'm just really tired. Woke up at 5 AM today, and my brain just hurts. But I've been reading and rereading all your amazingly supportive comments, and you guys are just the sweetest (I really didn't think people would like this story that much, I just started writing it for my own entertainment), and I wish I could give you all hugs!
> 
> But yeah, that's all for now. I'm going to go open up a $50 bottle of wine, git drunk, git brie cheese with bread, turn on some Elder Scrolls Online, and get plastered enough to where I start responding to the dialogue IRL. Happy Saturday, my dears! :)


	12. Curse My Dwindling Will

Thor traipsed across the field, sweaty and tired from the long day of training. While there was peace in the realms, the need for upkeep never ended among himself and his companions. Nor did the desire for it. He was perfectly content with their day-to-day routines, and all else seemed to be well in the palace—there was no need for the elder Prince of Asgard these days.

A glimpse of a shadow crossed his peripheral, and he turned in time to see a figure disappear around the corner of the long hallway to his right.

“Hello?”

There was no answer.

He followed the sound of feet pattering away, taking two long strides before he reached it. There, saw a figure strutting quickly down the hallway, and recognized it immediately—the brown waves flowing over her shoulder, the small frame… Yes, this wasn’t even the first time he’d seen it—though this instance confirmed to him now that the passing shadow was not his imagination. From the edges of the arena to the topmost doorways on the highest levels, it jumped from view when his attention moved in its direction.

“Aila?” he called out to her, and the woman stopped, turning slowly. She kept her eyes on the ground as she schooled her features, and bowed her head to him. “What are you doing here?”

She merely stared at the ground, her chest rising and falling steadily as thoughts openly zipped across her eyes. She hardly moved as Thor approached her, and he began sensing the distinct anxiety in her features as he nearer and nearer. He slowed a good distance away for her sake, furrowing a brow at the strange woman—his brother’s slave.

He was among the many had no understanding of Loki’s decision when he chose to employ her. It was equally strange when she was suddenly released from his service several months later, and collected again for it just recently.

  
Constantly back and forth, those two were. And the entire palace talked about it—there had even been rumors of a servant interfering with their…arrangement.

“I…” She paused, her voice betraying a nervousness that her expression refused to show. “I apologize, my Prince.”

Thor waited for an explanation. “What is there to apologize for?” he asked, watching as Aila’s lips parted and closed again. “And… have I seen you here before, Aila?”

“I-I’m sorry?” Her brows flickered upward, but Aila’s eyes remained on the ground.

“Please, you may look at me when you speak,” he said, and the slave blinked surprisedly before looking up at him. Looking just as thoughtful staring up, as she was staring down at the ground. “You’ve nothing to fear from me. I said, I believe I’ve seen you here a number of times—am I mistaken?”

Discomfort stirred in Thor’s chest as the woman studied him carefully, considering his words. “No, my Prince.”

“—Thor.”

She looked reluctant to repeat it. “Thor…you are not mistaken.”

He tilted his head. “And why is that?”

“It’s interesting to watch.”

“Watch?”

“The fights,” she said, casting her eyes to the side for a bit.

“I see. Does my brother know of this?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Professional curiosity, then?” Thor chuckled a bit. “Unusual interest for a-” he stopped before he could finish the thought, and Aila raised her brows a bit—a kindly expression remaining in her features. “Forgive me.”

She shook her head. “What’s there to forgive?”

True, what was there to forgive? For a moment, even he didn’t quite understand the impulse to apologize. A number of reasons came to mind, naturally, though perhaps it was far more simple than he guessed—perhaps it was simply the fact that Aila hadn’t appeared before him as a slave. Rather, a woman. And perhaps this was why Loki had kept her nearby so vehemently these past few months. Perhaps this was why she seemed to shadow his every step, seemingly interrupting his thoughts and standing in the way of conversation amidst noblemen, with her presence alone.

She looked at him with a commanding eye, spoke with a kind gracefulness. Perhaps, even, if she were given to his service instead of Loki’s, he may have been the one to—

Thor didn’t finish the thought. Any more than that was asking for trouble. “Right,” he grinned friendlily. “I’ve no wish to be unkind.”

“A word is not unkind,” she said. “But I understand your meaning. Thank you.”

“Meanings don’t carry much weight for most.” He paused, wondering for a moment just how many years she has spent being called a slave by others. Being mistreated, at that. “How old are you, if I may ask?”

“I will be one hundred and twenty-seven, my lord, in two days’ time.”

“You mean to say, that it will be your birthday?”

“That’s right.”

“How will you celebrate?” 

“I won’t… I’ve no plans to.”

“Why not?”

Aila paused. “It’ll be my first birth day since my mother’s death. I would avoid thinking on it altogether, if I could.”

“Oh.” Thor frowned. “Forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive,” she said again, a bit more softly, with a gentle smile.

She certainly was a strange one—strange enough to draw a quiet chuckle. “You know, I don’t understand my brother in many respects. I didn’t quite understand why he employed you if I’m being honest—but I see it now.”

“See ‘it,’ my lord?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “It’s rather clear why my brother is so taken with you.”

Her eyes widened a bit. “Taken?”

Thor shrugged. “Surely I’ve not betrayed some secret. You must see it for yourself.”

The look she’d taken earlier remained frozen in her face for a moment, even as she looked off to the side—though he swore he saw a glimmer of sadness creeping in. And when she glanced back at him, there was an uncertainty in her eyes, as though she doubted the words she wished to say. “I don’t know if that’s quite what he is,” she murmured with a smile, almost shakily. “But I’m sure it will pass.”

Thor’s brows pinched confusedly. “Pass?”

Aila shook her head again, as though shaking the thought away. “This… thing. I’m sorry, I’m being unclear. This isn’t anything to worry about.”

“I worry for my brother for many reasons, you aren’t one of them.”

She waited for a moment before responding, and that same uncertainty appeared in her features once again. “I should go,” she muttered quietly.

“Of course,” Thor bowed his head to her slightly. 

He waited for a time for Aila to disappear down the hall, then went about his own way through the castle. First to relinquish his armor and weapons for the day, and it’d grown dark by the time he was finished. Stopping by the library, where he often found Loki, Thor sauntered in and found his brother down one of the aisles—hovering over a record book by the soft, dim glow of a lantern.

“Loki,” he said.

Loki barely glanced in his direction as he scratched away with a quill—he simply muttered, “Brother.”

“I’ve just seen Aila.” The writing stopped, and Loki’s eyes sliced to him. 

“Care to elaborate on why this should interest me?” 

Thor rolled his eyes. “Are you aware that her birthday is approaching in two days’ time?”

“Her birthday?’

“Indeed.”

Loki looked off to the side. “No, I wasn’t aware of that.” He glanced back dubiously. “And she shared that with you?”

“It was contextual, but yes.” 

“And what context was that, brother?” 

“Calm yourself.” Thor chuckled. “I merely saw her in the hallway outside the arena.”

Loki appeared unsurprised. “I see.” He rose from his chair, and strode past Thor, pausing to look back at him. “Are you coming?”

“Coming?”

“With me,” he said. “I shall have a word with mother.”

 

 

***

 

 

Loki asked me to return to him, just after his first night in the catacombs, mumbling something about it being an accursed place… Naturally, I agreed. And while our ruse with Lydia continued for several days in tandem, there hadn't been much progress as a whole. We discussed it at length with his mother, wherein he surmised that the whole operation had been far more controlled than he'd anticipated. Not much room for a loophole to use against the Alfather. Queen Frigga was unhappy with our progress as well, though she seemed far from surprised by it.

The days went by as they did before, but there was little that could have prepared me for the smaller differences that time bore now. It was strange, this never-ending cross between the days when Loki had kissed me, and those he didn't. I could count with the fingers of just one hand how many times he'd done it—exactly twice.

A week had gone by since that night in the catacombs, and he hadn't touched me. Though that did not mean that I didn't notice the way his hands tensed when he neared me in the mornings, the way his eyes purposefully hardened to hide the softness when he looked upon me. The strain in his voice the time I'd accidentally brushed by him across the room, and the weighted rise and fall of his chest in the brief instant that his eyes fell to my chest.

It was all maddening.

I did my best, I truly did, to relent in my own affections. Clearly, the prince was attempting to do the same. We hadn't spoken of it, but there was a tacit agreement that pushing the boundaries could only lead to a fate worse off. And the memory of our night in the catacombs was sufficient to suppress the... feeling... that arose each time I looked at Loki.

Whether it was from near, from afar... it was inexplicably pleasurable to simply look at him. At the darting movements of his eyes when he wrote, his regal posture. The sound of his voice... To be back in his employment was, all at once, a blessing and a curse. And the very act of going back to it made clear that neither of us knew what we were doing—though we knew what we were doing to ourselves.

My run-in with Thor was refreshing, at least. Each day that I spent in Loki's company brought me closer and closer to a truth I didn't want to face: I was so stupidly impartial to the younger prince. I didn’t dare call it love, for how many problems would that create, exactly? Save for the glaring one—that a slave would not, and could not hold the interest of a prince for long. 

Apart from that, I’d run into Thor during a continued attempt at preparation to escape Asgard—observing himself and his Warriors Three in a fight—and spent the later hours of the evening with a phantom, and a projected sword fitted to my height and weight (though of course, it could not cut). There was no more dancing for me, these days… And with Loki's unwitting instruction, my magic had improved significantly, to where the phantom could flow of his own accord, based on my deepest memories of the training arena. Ones that even I could not recall outwardly.

I hadn't told Davos of my resumed employment, either… though I wager he’d guessed it. Sensed my doubt. He had never asked me for more, never asked me to call myself his, but perhaps there was something implicit that needed to be let go—if I chose to stay in Asgard.

 _If…_ And if I stayed, what would that mean for Davos?

 _Ugh._

I rubbed the bridge of my nose as I bent over the kitchen counter, waiting for Loki's dinner to be handed to me. Today was my birthday, but I hadn't told him—I hadn't told anyone at all, save for Thor. I fully intended to deliver Loki's dinner, and be off to the catacombs early tonight. It was my first year without my mother, and I was hardly in the mood for discussion with anyone—not even the prince.

The door creaked heavily as I stepped inside, surprised to see the flickering tongues of the fireplace illuminating an empty chamber. I sauntered toward the table slowly, and paused at the small note resting on the glossy surface. Setting the tray down carefully, I picked it up—staring for a moment at the elegant penmanship spelling out my name. 

_Aila_

I opened the note.

_When you are finished eating, wait until eleven, and then come to the library._

 

The library? I furrowed a brow at the instructions, and then glanced down at the food. A whole pheasant, blackberry sauce and an assortment of vegetables… My mouth watered at the thought of it, but naturally, I left half for the prince.

The palace was silent at this time of night, as was the library. The rows stood tall and dark on either side of me as I strode down them, following the single source of light flickering at the far end of the comfortably sized hall. Three figures murmured amongst themselves at the lounge area nestled on the loft, beside the window comprising the furthest wall.

The voices fell silent as I ascended the stairs, coming up on the platform where the two princes and their mother sat. The Queen was nestled comfortably on the couch beside Thor, a small wrapping in her hands, while Loki leaned on a small table nearby. Three pairs of eyes fell on me as I stepped onto the platform.

 

***

 

Loki watched as Aila as she strode up to them. Against his advisement, the Queen had chosen to divulge their plans to Thor. Granted, he didn’t suspect that his brother would reveal them to Odin, but he greatly disliked the nonchalance with which she told him. By the look he received in the end, even Thor knew that the idea had very little merit. The establishment of slaves in Asgard was too great a tightly wound endeavor—it would not come apart so easily.

"Aila," the Queen smiled as Aila sauntered in. "Very nice to see you this evening."

"Likewise, Almother." She bowed, looking toward Loki as she straightened up. He wasn't altogether smiling, but there was a soft amusement weighing heavily in his expression—he was quite enjoying the anticipation of what was about to happen.

"I've heard it was your birthday today," the Queen said, and Aila glanced at Thor in the process, who looked back with a contented expression. “And that you used to join your mother about in the palace at late hours of the night.”

"I—yes."

"How old are you, my dear?"

"One hundred and twenty seven."

"One hundred and twenty seven years you've been in this world. Yet we've only known you for a matter of months." The Queen looked between her sons. “It may not be that long of a time, but I believe the imprint you’ve left in this family deserves commemoration.”

Loki held back a smile as his mother lifted her hands, holding the wrappings out to Aila, who knelt before the Queen.

“What is this?” She looked down at them. 

“A belonging of yours, that should never have been taken from you.”

Aila stared up at her, and Loki saw the very moment the comprehension had dawned on her—mixed with a twinge of disbelief. Aila had only ever _owned_ one thing, after all.

Her hands moved delicately as she unfurled the wrappings, and paused mid-movement when their contents were revealed. A small, ornate music box laying in the Queen’s palms. Fingers still pinching the fabrics, Aila merely stared down at it for a moment, a thin sheen of wetness covering her widened eyes.

Finally, she took it, and fell back in a seated position as she stared down at it. And without a hint of a sound, she turned her face away from the Queen, and from Loki. Only Thor could really see her expression from where she sat, until she covered her eyes and the dripping tears were left to betray it.

“ _How…_ ” she breathed out incredulously, looking back down at the music box. The moment she opened her eyes, tears spilled from them. “ _How did you know about this?_ ” 

“This was taken from your mother’s belongings the day she died,” Frigga answered kindly.

“—and I have ears everywhere,” Loki added, schooling his features when Aila met his eyes, though he froze at the way she stared, the way her body tensed.

“This is a very special device,” his mother continued, her tone laced with a subtle understanding. “Isn’t it?” Aila looked back at her. “I’d like you to show me.”

Aila remained still as she seemed to considered it for a moment, until a look of security spread across her features, as she stared up at the Queen. Almost as though the two were conversing in a language unfamiliar to her sons. Slowly, Aila covered the top of the music box with one hand, and cradled it with the other. The thinnest sheen of seidr spread across her skin, and… she hummed. Seven notes.

When she removed her hand, the lid opened of its own accord. Her fingers drifted away from the music box, as though winding through a net of thread they could not see, and a second voice spun from the device in a soft, angelic tune. Whispering the words in a language he could not understand.

His lips parted when he finally understood—it must have been her mother’s voice. 

By the way that tears flooded Aila’s eyes, to where she could no longer sing along to the foreign words, he was right…but what was the language? Loki suppressed a thoughtful shake of his head as he studied her for a moment, finding he couldn’t recognize her origin by appearance alone. Nor by the language she’d spoken.

Still, the question began to gnaw at him— _just who is she?_

“Thank you,” she whispered at the song’s end, and a smile tugged at Loki’s lip, at the affection brimming in her eyes. Her gratitude was palpable.

“We can keep that in my chambers, if you’d like. No one will take it there, and you can listen to it any time you like.”

“It’s like…having her here,” Aila whimpered, nearly losing control of her voice. “I don’t know how to thank you. I don’t deserve this kindness.”

“You deserve it, my dear. More, even,” Frigga said. “Truly. I would not say it if I did not mean it.” 

“Forgive me for betraying your secret, lady,” Thor chimed in with a smile. “I do know my family best, however—I did not think I would come to regret it.”

“It’s alright,” she said, shaking her head. “ _There’s nothing to forgive._ ”

Loki disliked the way that Thor chuckled at that last statement, but let it lie when his mother stood, and beckoned for him to leave with her. After a final round of wishes, the two of them left the library together, leaving Loki and his slave alone in the vast hall, wherein he sauntered to the couch where his mother sat, and lowered himself down before the slave.

Aila remained where she was, now smiling brightly as she brushed invisible specks of dust off the music box.

“Aila,” he said, and her eyes darted up to him—so quickly, that he forgot what he was about to say.

“You did this,” she whispered, gazing up at him. 

He merely stared, utterly taken by the strength of her gaze, and bobbed his head slightly.

The smile faded from Aila’s expression, her happiness making room for a warmer glow as she set the music box down beside her. Loki’s breath froze in his lungs as she moved toward him slowly, rising from her heels. It stayed frozen as she laid two hands on his knees, and inched higher up off the ground. His boots scraped as his legs parted, making room for her instinctually as she laid her hands on his shoulders, and pushed him back. Back against the couch, against the pillows, she crawled atop and straddled him in a swift movement, pressing against him until there was no room left between their bodies.

Her touch was  _heaven._

Aila’s hand entangled in his hair while the other ran up his neck, and her lips moved against his, demonstrating the softest tendrils of her affection. They were warm and damp and soft against his— _oh how he’d missed them—_ and Loki ran his hands along her sides, biting back a groan at the way her hips pressed against him. He relished even the sounds of each gentle smack of her mouth, each time she turned her face to kiss him a different way.

“ _Aila…_ ” he managed to mutter when her breath grew shallow, her kiss more heavy and aggressive against his lips. _Gods…_ he wouldn’t hold long like this. Arousal was cutting through him with a feral madness, and there was this beautiful woman straddling him. 

No. Not just any beautiful woman—it was _her_.

 _“Aila,”_ he repeated.

“ _What?_ ” she breathed out, eyes still closed as she resumed kissing him. His breath grew heavy as the last of his will dwindled, succumbing to her temptation. But he couldn’t—no, he couldn’t. He remembered the very first time he’d considered this, considered _her_ , and the words that crept through his thoughts—‘ _it would mean death for the girl.’_

“ _Aila, we can’t…_ ”

“ _We can.”_ Her hand slipped down between his legs, and Loki cocked his head back against the couch, pinching his brows together as his self control gnawed at the string it hung by, biting and claw at it as her lips trailed down his neck. And even atop his clothes, the touch of her hand encouraged the tense swaths of pleasure in his groin.

“ _No.”_ He couldn’t. _“Aila, stop…”_

Her movements slowed, ceasing seconds later as she finally pulled away from him— _thank the gods_. Though the minute her lips disappeared from his neck, he wished them back again, and barely moved for several moments after.

“You don’t want me?” Her voice came out as a whisper.

Loki managed a sigh, eyes remaining closed as his head stayed cocked against the couch. His hand crept over to hers, which was still between his legs, and gave it a squeeze. “Is that what this tells you?”

“ _Then…why?_ ”

He opened his eyes, and looked up at her face. “You would be executed for it.”

“No one needs to know—”

“We would know,” he murmured, “I can’t risk it.” 

“Who would we tell?” she asked, removing her hand as the heat cooled between them. “And why?”

  
“I can’t think straight about that right now,” Loki muttered hazily.

Aila stared at him for a moment, and her shoulders dropping a bit as she removed herself from his lap, her body replaced by a coldness that he hated. “Perhaps it’s for the best, then…”

Loki stared at the ceiling. “For now.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, until Aila was the first to stand. “I suppose I should go.” Loki cast his eyes toward her, not helping the way they raked over her form, before reaching her eyes. “Good night… Prince.”

Loki couldn’t quite put his finger on her tone, and merely stared up at her as she turned, and walked away. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmured as she took the first step.

She paused, and looked back at him—expressionless at first, until a hint of a smile graced her lips. “Tomorrow.”

Something tightened in his chest as she disappeared down the stairs, and Loki listened to her footsteps until they too, were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hints. Hints everywhere. Some of you guys are so smart, picking up on them so aptly. Even the one-worders. I give you a mental fist bump every time I see it, though I can't directly address it in my AN for obvious reasons. ;)
> 
> Fun fact, the music box is inspired by the one from Anastasia, because I grew up loving that movie. I'm partially also starting to feel really bad for torturing Loki like this, but what can I say? I love me some slow burn. Which is why I'm stupidly excited to write the next chapter. It's going to be a special one-super exciting for so many reasons.
> 
> Alrightie. :) Til next time!


	13. Leaving, Only to Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! :)

_You would be executed for it._

His words echoed through my mind again and again, over the weeks that passed.

When I walked down the stairs of the library that night, the resulting air between us was hardly what I expected would follow. It grew cold and distant since the night of my birthday—a stark contrast to where I thought things were headed. The Prince neither touched nor approached me again, and the faintest look of disapproval was in his eyes each time I stepped too close. He required less of me on a day-to-day basis, and I saw less of his face in general. Quite literally, as he always seemed to find a reason to turn away from me.

Slowly but surely, I began to understand his intentions. With every cold, sidelong glance and absent remark, I began to understand his intent to keep me at arm’s length.

The Prince began spending more and more time at his desk—just as he did in the very beginning—but never deigned to tell me what he was working on. Nor did he ask me to go to the library to pick up tomes, or even accompany him.

Yet, he was always at his desk. Always with a new stack of tomes, and a pile of papers. 

Just as he was now, one month later.

_One cold, lonely month…_

I looked over at him, realizing just how well I’d gotten to know his backside. I sighed as I held a book up in my hand, wondering if he preferred it to stay on his end table, or to be put back onto the bookshelf. Even if I asked him now, I knew the answer would be clipped and abrupt.

It was more than I could bear in the moment, and I circled around the bed to set it back on the shelf.

“Aila?” he suddenly said, without turning to look back at me.

I faced him, surprised to be spoken to. For the past month, whenever he delved so deeply into his work, he rarely spoke to me. “Yes, Prince.”

“I would like you to accompany me to the meeting tonight.”

  
I blinked at him. “Meeting?”

  
“The final treaty signing of the warring realms. Go to the wardrobe and fetch the robes on the second hanger from the left.”

There was a pause. My heart sank a bit, still feeling the sting of being spoken to so coldly. Daring to attempt a venture into a conversation, I asked, “Is that what you’ve been working on? Something for the meeting?”

“Don’t concern yourself with that. Please just do as you’re told.”

“Alright,” I sighed, turning and heading toward it. The hangers slid against the metal pole as I procured the robes, eyeing them curiously. “This is…what is this?”

“A scribe’s apparel.”

“Why do I need to wear this?”

Loki continued writing, and from where the lamplight fell on his face, I could see the utter neutrality in his expression. “Because the Alfather does not like to have slaves present in these meetings. If you’re to accompany me, then I will not have you dressed as one.”

“Why do I need to accompany you?”

“Because I’ve asked you to come with me.” Loki stopped writing and glanced at me for a moment, as though checking to see if I was getting ready. “I would like you to be there for it.”

  
“Why?”

“Aila…” He sighed. “Please, you will find out when we go. Be ready to leave within the hour.”

There was a pause. “Alright,” I answered, and Loki continued to watch me as I put the robes down on the bed. I left my tunic in its place once I was finished changing, and waited as he gathered the pile of paperwork he’d been scribbling at the entire day.

“Have you eaten yet?” he asked without looking at me, walking across the chamber.

“Erm—no,” I murmured, following him out into the hallway.He turned to lock the door, and I saw him press his lips together. “Loki, I—”

“Prince,” he interrupted softly, stepping past me in the hallway. “Any time we leave my chambers, you must refer to me as ‘Prince.’”

I swallowed thickly. “Only outside them?”

He slowed, glancing at me over his shoulder as he said softly, “We would both do well to become accustomed to it, for now.”

Not exactly an answer…but I watched as he continued walking, my heart sinking in my chest. “Yes, Prince,” I murmured, and followed after him.

The meeting hall had some of the tallest windows I’d seen throughout the grounds. Each time I had been in this room, I couldn’t help but wonder how they managed to procure the tall slates of glass. And at the bottom of the hall, the conference table stretched from nearly one wall to the next.

My understanding was that the attendees required the use of seidr to speak loudly enough to one another—one of the many areas of training I’d also neglected these past few weeks.

Frigga wasn’t present for this meeting, but Thor was to attend, along with Odin. I followed Loki to the center of the hall, near the end of the table where he was to sit. The quiet hum of murmuring voices echoed throughout the massive space, but he remained silent—and I tread silently behind him. I dared to raise my eyes from the ground, looking at his backside. His black curls moved over his shoulders as he perused the pages in his hands, turning the corner and setting them down on the table.

“Loki!” A voice addressed him suddenly. My eyes fell back to the floor as the Prince turned, smiling at the man who approached him from the other side.

“Falkreth,” he grinned fondly at the man. “How are you, friend?”

“Aching to be finished with this already.”

“It hasn’t even started.”

“Precisely.” 

Loki laughed. “Well, you’re a guest of Asgard for the week,” he said humorously. “I would personally endeavor to make this as short as possible.”

“Excellent. Dremor and Talin will be here any moment as well,” Falkreth looked at the golden chairs, and placed a hand on the one beside Loki’s. “Are the seats assigned?”

“No, not at all.”

“Right, we’ll save these two for them. How long since you last saw them?”

Loki chuckled. “About as long ago as I last saw you—seven months at least, I believe?”

“Indeed,” Falkreth glanced at me, “I apologize—were one of these seats for your scribe?”

“No, she is my serving woman,” the Prince said without looking at me.

“Ah,” Falkreth nodded, looking me over. “Very nice to meet you, madam.” I merely nodded, keeping my eyes on the ground. He looked back at Loki, “Why does she not speak?”

“My father would be displeased to hear that one of the slaves engaged with a nobleman,” Loki answered dryly.

His friend tilted his head, glancing at me expectantly. “Do I detect a hint of bitterness?”

“Let’s change the subject,” the Prince answered. And I was impressed to hear how comfortable he was with the man. They must have been good friends.

Falkreth gave me a final glance. “Of course. Come, let’s sit. They’re about to begin.”

True enough, other diplomats had begun to enter the chambers. A number of scribes as well, and servants bringing in light food and wine.

“Aila?” Loki called for me.

“Yes, Prince.” I stepped up to him.

“You will wait by the window over there, with the rest of the servants and scribes.”

“Of course.”

Without another word, he pulled the golden chair out and sat down in it. I strode down the length of the conference table, watching as other diplomats began to fill their seats. Chief among them were Odin and Thor, and I dared a quick glance in Thor’s direction as I passed by him. He offered a kindly smile that warmed my heart, and made me feel like I still had a single close friend left within the palace. Save for Davos, and save for the Queen. With Lady Frigga’s general absence these past few weeks—I had really only seen her in passing—my gratitude was unending, for her role in returning my mother’s music box.

The rain had lightened up outside, but streams of water still trickled down the windows as I approached them. The warm, ambient glow of the torches contrasted sharply against it. Heels clicked and shoes padded all around me, and I stopped next to one of the torches, watching as the rest of the guests assembled.

The very last of them were the emissaries from Niflheim. Dressed for the harshest winter, they were tall, hardy people. Three men to be exact, and at their head was a more frightening-looking warrior than Thor. I’d first heard of these emissaries some months back, while serving Loki’s table at a luncheon.

I shuddered at the memory of what followed—the intrusion in the bath house by the most vile nobleman among them. My seidr had nearly been found out that day.

 _“The King of Niflheim…”_ I heard one of the scribes whisper to another. I sifted to the back of the small group, if only to be able to look upon their faces without being apprehended.

The king’s hair was long and black, greying in certain areas, but his face was young—thoughtful. Feline even, but not in the same way as Loki’s. Something about him made my skin crawl, though I couldn’t put my finger on why.

Odin stood for the man, and greeted him along with the guests. “Veris,” he addressed the man by name. Odin’s voice was perfectly loud and clear, and I could sense the vibration of seidr in the air.

“Odin,” the man’s voice boomed in turn, as his men sat on either side of him, at the opposite end of the table. He stood for a moment, looking around the hall. “This place is exactly as I remember it.”

His eyes fell to me, and I looked away.

“It’s good to have you back,” Odin said, addressing the rest of them next. “All in all, I anticipate great progress to result from tonight’s assembly.”

“Progress indeed,” King Veris said. “We have all agreed to sign the treaty, have we not?”

 _“The first treaty between Niflheim and Asgard since the war—it’ll finally be signed…”_ a scribe whispered again. I glanced at them, then turned my attention back to the table.

“First, we will discuss the terms, and be sure that all matters are distributed fairly,” Odin said. “Let’s open with the trade routes surrounding Midgard…” 

One by one, I waited and watched—and listened—as they went through the terms of the treaty. A process which took the better half of the following hour, until the final section was reached: war slaves.

“A dreary matter,” King Veris droned. “Let’s get on with this.”

“I’ve no intention to linger,” Odin said. “All has been arranged, according to the previous—”

“I would like to propose an amendment,” Loki suddenly spoke up. Silence cut through the air, and my heart jumped in my throat when I saw him stand, sifting through the pages on the table. “Forgive me gentleman, if I could have a moment more of your time. I’ve compiled some information on the economic prospects of Asgard with and without the use of slaves—per the results, I propose they be returned to their homes, or otherwise freed.”

  
My jaw slackened, heart racing, and there was silence throughout the hall.

“No,” Odin replied abruptly. “Loki, this matter was arranged long ago.”

“Did you not preface this assembly with a statement on the ‘fair’ distribution of the elements of this treaty?”

“I doubt that you have brought a new, compelling reason for your argument—apart from what you’ve approached me with over the past few months.”

  
My jaw slackened at hearing about Loki’s efforts.

Falkreth looked up at his friend, and rose from his chair. “Alfather, I have the utmost respect for your word as law. But might we not discuss the merits of Loki’s claim? Listen, at the very least, to what he has brought us today?”

The Prince looked at him, and nodded in gratitude. My heart froze as the Alfather glanced in my direction, but said nothing in turn. Loki continued, “After so many years, our presence at this table represents the prospects of a peaceful future. This night will go down in history, this much we can be certain of. Together, we constitute a future in which the realms cooperate, and understand one another.”

  
He looked around the table, and continued. “We all know that the purpose of the war slaves was to punish those who transgressed the laws of Yggdrasil. But a new generation has been born and raised amidst the bloodbaths of their predecessors—pointlessly. We have no more need for such brutal renderings of the Alfather’s laws, when we are all in full compliance of them. This treaty represents that compliance. Here, I present my calculations on the economic impacts of freeing the populace, and believe you will all come to the same conclusions as I. Therefore, I implore the signees to abolish the practice altogether.”

Silence hardened in the room.

It remained there for some time, broken by the sound of King Veris’ laughter.“Skulking creatures, they are,” he said, still draped in his chair. “You forget, young prince, that Niflheim also possesses war slaves. Generations upon generations, as we began collecting them earlier in the war than anyone else here. What would you have _us_ do? Who will take up such work in their stead?”

“I would have you accommodate, and abolish the practice,” Loki answered sharply, “following Asgard’s example.”

“There will be no such example, Loki,” Odin interjected. “There are far too many implications. Too many to be discussed in this short period—there have been dozens of meetings that led to this one. Each facet of the treaty has been carefully planned, and a framework established. For now, the slaves will remain part of that framework.”

“You have not considered my proposals,” Loki pushed the papers toward him, “Why not allow them to contribute to the realms in other ways?”

“Because they cannot. They have bred themselves into the lowest ranks of intellect,” King Veris said. My eyes widened as I looked at him, wetness coating them, and I struggled to refrain from scowling at him. _Vile bastard._ “Have you not seen them for yourself, young prince?”

Loki’s voice dropped low, “Of course I have. Why else would I be standing here?”

“I cannot agree to these terms,” Veris answered. “Forgive me, Alfather.”

“Nothing to forgive. The proposal will not be considered. Sit down, Loki.”

Loki gritted his teeth, “Alfather, I—”

Odin’s voice rumbled menacingly, “Sit. Down.” Loki turned his head slowly to the Alfather, who looked up at him harshly. They stared at one another for a time until he slowly lowered back down into his seat, fists clenched tightly on the table. “Now, we sign.”

A few loose tears spilled like hot droplets down my cheeks, and I quickly swiped them away. The signing process took a bit of time, and it was just enough for me to calm myself down. Enough to make it through the tail-end of the meeting, at least.

Loki remained seated as the rest of the diplomats stood to leave, and I slowly made my way toward him once more. The scribe robes emboldened me when I tread past King Veris, and my eyes cut like razors from behind my amber waves. He furrowed a brow when he looked down at me, and I held his gaze as I went by. It took a moment to realize that there was something strange in his expression, though I couldn’t make it out.

As I drew near, I could see that Loki’s knuckles were white with tension. I aimed to keep a distance until the Alfather left, but even then, three of Loki’s friends—Falkreth included—crowded around him before I had the chance to speak to him.

“It was a good attempt, my friend.” Falkreth said.

“Thank you.” Loki rose from his chair, glancing at me as I circled around the group, to the other side of the table.

“Come out with us tonight.”

He shook his head. “No. I’m hardly in the mood.”

“I’m well aware,” Falkreth answered sympathetically. “That’s why I offered. Come, drink and forget your troubles for a time. We visit the realm so rarely, after all.”

The four of them looked at one another, and I swallowed thickly as Loki glanced in my direction, with the slightest hint of exhaustion permeating the void. Finally, he sighed. “Alright.”

His friend nodded, patting his shoulder as he threw me a sad look. “Come.”

“One moment,” Loki said as he turned to me. “Aila, you will return to the chambers and finish your chores. Afterward, you are excused for the night.”

I couldn’t help the frown that pulled my lips downward, pressing them together as I fought back the tears. Four pairs of eyes watched me—I could _feel_ them all watching me—until I nodded, and they finally turned to leave.

After they were gone, I was slow to leave the hall. Slow to return to Loki’s chambers, slow to finish my chores.

I cried at first, unable to hold back the tears, but a string of rationalization made way for the realization that the immediate reality of the world simply hadn’t changed. Nothing changed from this night, at all. And in fact, it was unreasonable to believe that anything could have happened differently. I understood why Loki wanted me to attend, even if it hadn’t ended the way he wanted it to, but I almost wished that he didn’t invite me. The false hope was a cruel imposition, even if it was well-meant.

He must have been confident that he would be heard.

Toward the end, King Veris’ remark was what continued to sting the most, though even that was beginning to numb.

Altogether, I was numb.

Numb to Loki’s treatment of me.

Numb to my status as a slave…

Simply numb.

The fire continued burning well into the night, which was when I finally finished my chores, having been moving slower than usual. By that point, it was getting late, and Loki hadn’t returned. Even for him, it was later than usual, though it was hardly my responsibility to think twice on that. He was an adult, and a Prince of Asgard. The man could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted to.

Still, I wanted to leave him something for his return. And once the thought occurred to me, it didn’t relent—not until I found myself headed to the palace kitchens, where the palace air was cool and mollifying around me. I enjoyed it thoroughly as I prepared the beverage myself. Afterward, I brought it back up to his chambers on a tray, and arranged it on the table where he would easily see it, along with a large decanter of water. I was disappointed to see that Loki still hadn’t returned, and began to feel a bit worried…

As I set the glass goblet down beside the decanter, the chamber doors opened and shut behind me.

I jumped at the sound, spinning to see Loki leaning against them.

He closed his eyes, cocking his head back against the heavy wood for a moment. And when he straightened back up, Loki seemed barely able to keep his eyes open as he looked around the room. When they fell on me, he paused.

“You’re still here?” His gaze scraped up and down my body, and his face twisted with confusion. “Gods, what on Earth are you wearing?”

My eyes widened a bit at the sight of him. “Um. This is a scribe’s uniform—you had me change earlier,” I answered, gesturing to the coffee. “Forgive me, my Prince, I was just leaving you with this.”

Loki furrowed a brow, and hobbled toward the table. There were a few instances where I thought he might fall over.

 _“What is it?”_ he asked earnestly, leaning against the chair and eyeing the coffee, like it was some foreign object that didn’t belong on a table.

“It’s just coffee,” I said, holding my hands out to steady him if he leaned too far. “And water.”

 _“Oh,”_ he breathed out with a chuckle.

“Wow,” I cringed a bit, smelling the heavy alcohol on his breath. “You’ve had quite a bit to drink, haven’t you? You should drink some of this water.”

“Why?” Loki asked. “Why should I do anything at all?”

“Because you’re drunk,” I answered, looking up at him. “And you’re saying things you don’t mean.”

He furrowed a brow like I accused him of something grave. “What? What have I said?”

“Nothing,” I digressed, nudging him toward the edge of the bed, facing the fire. “Sit down. Let’s get you some water, and then get you to sleep. I’ll stack the pillows so you don’t turn over, but try to stay upright for now, and take off your armor.”

I turned to the table, and dread filled me—he was in a worse state than I anticipated.

Behind me, I heard him laugh. “I don’t take such orders. I am a Prince of Asgard.”

I rolled my eyes and faced him, seeing how he tried once—twice, three times—to grip the railing at the end of the bed. With a sigh, I realized that he wouldn’t be able to do it on his own.

“Yes, you are a Prince,” I said, and he looked at me. “But you’re very drunk, and you should try to get to sleep after you’ve had some water.”

Still chuckling, Loki looked down at his armor and pawed at it. “Oh, this ridiculous suit…”

I situated myself between his knees, reaching down to help him. “Here, let me do it.”

“You?” he muttered as he looked up at me. It was difficult not to take notice as I pulled apart the strings of his armor and undid the clasps. “Yes, you’re always here to help me, aren’t you?”

I was close enough to feel his breath on my chest, and it was hard not to let it affect me. “Stay still,” I said as I fumbled with one of the more complicated clasps on the armor.

“I don’t take orders from you.”

“If you were in your right mind, you’d be ordering yourself to do the same.”

“Order me again,” he said, and I paused. Inches away, he peered back at me through lidded eyes—which, even in this state, were hard and domineering.

 _“Stay, Still,”_ I repeated sharply, meeting his challenge.

Silence ensued as Loki stared up at me. He made no sign of moving—nothing to suggest what he had or hadn’t planned to do next. After a moment, he began surveying my face like nothing had happened, and I took the chance to finish unclasping his armor, leaving only the thin shirt underneath.

“Don’t,” he mumbled as I went for his boots. He tried to pull them off at first, but struggled to get them undone.

It took seconds for me to unlace them instead, and to pull them off. Loki watched as I set them down and approached the table again, filling the goblet with water once more. “Here,” I returned it to him, “drink this.”

His eyes remained fixed on me as he reached out and took it, finishing it in one go, and then handed it back to me.

 _“Alright…”_ I sighed after setting the goblet back down, and looked toward the bed.

Loki remained at the edge, staring at the fire as I came around the other side of it, arranging his pillows so that there would be little room for him to roll onto his back. Even as I did so, the realization sank in that there was no sure way to prevent him from rolling over, other than to watch over him myself. Perhaps I could leave in the morning, once I knew he was in the clear…

“Come on,” I said as I approached him again, holding my hands out to help him down onto the bed. He waved them away. “Don’t you want to sleep?”

“No,” Loki said as he hauled himself up abruptly, forcing me back a few steps. “That’s not what I want to do.”

Firelight flickered against his features as he peered sullenly at me. Somewhere below, I felt fingers brushing against mine, and I looked down to see his hand reaching out for mine. With a bit of a wobble, he pulled me in to him, his arm slinking around my waist while the other hand entangled in my hair.

We stood there for some time. And for a while, it was a warm, quiet embrace—until he finally chuckled. “Can you forget that all this happened?” he asked as he pulled away. “This whole day?” 

I offered a grin, whispering, “Sure.”

“Good.” His lips quirked into an approving smile, eyes roving slowly downward. “Are…there other things you might forget?” Loki lifted a finger, and touched it to my neck. I tensed, barely managing a stutter as I looked down at his hand, sliding further and further, until it hooked onto my cleavage.

I swallowed thickly, shaking my head as I withdrew his hand. “No, Loki. There aren’t.”

“Why not?”

“You visited this idea once when you were sober, and it didn’t end this way. You should be heading to bed now, not making such invitations.”

“Oh,” he furrowed a brow. “Well, then the tables are turned.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that,” I said, nudging him back toward the bed. “But this night needs to end for you.”

His knees bumped against the edge, and he plopped down.“Why do you ruin my fun?”

“Is this your idea of fun?” I turned to pour him another goblet of water. He took it without question, drank the contents, and set it on the end table.

“Yes—it can be.”

“No,” I shook my head as I approached him, nudging him by the shoulder. “It cannot.”

“There’s a bottle of liqueur in the second drawer of the wardrobe,” he said. “We can forget it all together.”

“Now isn’t the time to be forgetting things, Loki.” He scuffled a bit as I tried to herd him closer to the pillows. He looked so confused, so utterly uncomprehending of why I was doing it—at that point, I couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s time for you to go to bed.”

“No. It’s never time for anything, Aila,” his voice dropped low. “It’s never time for anything at all. You regularly invade my thoughts, every gods forsaken day—is it ever time for that?”

“Well, I’ll try my best to avoid that in the futur—”

“Was it time before, as well?” I stopped trying to push him toward the pillows, and stared. “Was it time when we were alone that night? Would it have changed anything?”

My jaw dropped. He was referring to our night at the library. “Yes, Loki. It would have changed a lot of things.”

“And what would those be? Aside from having you outside my thoughts, what would it have changed?” He leaned toward me. “Tell me.”

“We would have crossed a line better left untouched.”

“Do you think _you’re_ better left untouched, by me?” his voice rumbled, and his hand appeared on my knee. “Is that what you think?”

My breath hitched in my throat, and I suddenly realized how close I’d gotten while trying to usher him toward the pillows. “I—”

“Do you have any idea—” His hand slid up the side of my leg, and I gasped as Loki’s other arm snapped around my waist, pulling me onto his lap—just as we were that night. “— _any_ at all, of the things I wanted to do to you that night?” he hissed against my neck. “They were unspeakable.”

I couldn’t bring myself to pull away immediately, but my hands readied themselves on his shoulders anyway, while his hardness pressed against me from below.“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “You’re drunk, I won’t do anything with you.”

“You’re right about that,” Loki said as he leaned forward and kissed my jaw. My hand speared through his hair, aiming to pull him away against the behest of the growing impulse. It fought with me as he kissed his way down my neck, my chest, all the way down to my cleavage.

 _“No,”_ I breathed out, finally finding the will to pull him away from my skin.

Loki peered up at me through lidded eyes. _“Take off your clothes,”_ the command rolled off his tongue with a groan, his hands roving up and down my body.

I shook my head, trying to slither off him. _“N-No…”_

“Don’t you want me?” he drawled, and I stuttered—a bit stunned by the question. His lips quirked upward. “Then _take off your clothes.”_

“I won’t,” I answered sharply, and finally pulled out of his grasp. “L-Lay down—right now.”

Loki stared for a moment, and finally obeyed. His eyes remained on me as I grabbed the goblet next, and drank some of the water myself.

“Are you going to leave me?” he asked.

I turned to face him, still panting a little. “No, I won’t leave you.”

“—in Asgard?”

My eyes widened a bit. “Stop thinking about these things,” I said, trying to mediate the shakiness in my voice, “and go to sleep.”

“Will that make you stay?”

“Well, it certainly won’t upset me.” I plopped down onto the chair, sighing heavily as I rested my forehead against my palm. “Onto your side and sleep. Now.”

It took a moment of vehement refusal to look at him—of looking into the fire, instead—before I saw Loki finally turn over onto his side, out of the corner of my eye.

_Now, to keep him that way..._

I groaned inwardly. This was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, lovelies. I'm back! Apologies for that hiatus. I was overworked to the nth degree a few months ago, and my stress budget just wasn't allowing me to work on this story. Updates over the next few weeks might be teeny bit spotty as things normalize completely, but I'm officially re-booting this story and getting back to regular posts.
> 
> I admit, it was a little bit strange coming back to this. I had to reread the first 12 chapters just to do it, and then incorporate a little extra distance into their relationship to make up for the distance in your minds to this story (I tried to, anyway, which is also why I did Aila-only POV). I also went back and reread your reviews and binged some Marvel movies to get my inspiration going. I just feel like I'm brushing the dust off these characters and relationships, and I hope this chapter went okay as a starter. Happy Saturday/Sunday to you all. :)


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